


Supernova

by allrounderinsane



Category: Cricket RPF
Genre: F/F, Far Too Much Tactical Chat, Sexism, pregnancy loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-16 20:45:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 21,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14818542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allrounderinsane/pseuds/allrounderinsane
Summary: Meg Lanning is the best in the world; daylight second.She's the most powerful, even when her body is broken.It's first that broken body which lets Meg down, then herself - and in the amidst of skyrocketing publicity for the women's Ashes series, she must uncover the person within the cricketer.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Angels_in_Fishnets](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angels_in_Fishnets/gifts).



> To my prompter, you are both an incredible human being and writer. You have contributed immeasurably to this exchange with your words, humour and support. Thank you.
> 
> Seeking to fulfil SLFE Prompt #2:  
> All that you can't leave behind (Gen, literally anyone but assume I don't know anything about them.)
> 
> One of the things that I find most interesting about sport is the parts players cannot shake. It could be all-consuming like someone playing first class cricket into their 40s when their peers have long retired, or a player who goes straight into the commentary box or a coaching role practically before they have their gloves off. Could be the moment which defines a career - an injury, a game-losing mistake at a critical point, a decision to leave for greener pastures that aren't actually greener. Or perhaps the player who has moved on except for that one thing they just can't let go, that solitary regret. 
> 
> This doesn't have to be a former player. Current players who can't leave behind old injuries or mistakes from years before are also good.
> 
> This might lend itself to being "the relationship a player can't leave behind" and while that's cool, I'd rather not have that as the focus. If the relationship can build on why this player can't leave the past behind, awesome, but have it as a side dish, not the main meal.
> 
> This prompt is such a fascinating and thoughtful look into cricketers and how they function as people within that professional sporting environment. I’ve gone with a current player, as the character tags probably attest to.

_20 th July 2017_

The clicking of the stumps as they come undone is engulfed by the roar of a jubilant Goswami. Meg checks over her shoulder, against her better judgment from a lifetime in cricket. Fielders clad in blue rush onto the pitch, their supporters in the stands at Derby waving their flags in celebration. Otherwise, the match around Meg moves slowly, as she keeps hold of her bat. She passes Ellyse as she trudges from the field. The all-rounder pauses, to speak with Meg, but she can barely even muster an upward glance, sombrely entranced by her dismissal for a duck. Bowled, too – it’s utterly humiliating, even to the mastery of Goswami. Just before the boundary rope, Meg rehearses the shot that she should have played again, to no avail. She takes a larger step to depart the field. The television camera stalks Meg, examining her as she yanks off her gloves. Finally, she disappears down the race which leads to the dressing room, where her teammates are sitting, shell-shocked. Meg removes her helmet as she is welcomed by the shade of inside, its mechanisms catching in her hair.

 

+

 

Even from the shower, Meg can hear the crowd. She winces, at the stinging of the scorching water against her skin, and the knowledge that the silence directly on the other side of the tiles makes it likely that a wicket has fallen. Meg doesn’t begrudge an English crowd for refusing to cheer on the Australians, even against another national side than their own. Clutching her elbow, she leans back against the wall and bows her head reverentially. Water splashes down Meg’s frame, tickling her features and dampening her blonde hair. She is washed clean of the innings in the field. Shame sticks to Meg, nonetheless. It’s the powerlessness of being without answers, or finding them much too late to have an impact on the match.

 

No matter how much steam she breathes in, Meg cannot shake it. It’s only when she hears a relieved cheer from the dressing room that she stumbles forward. With her good arm, Meg switches off the water and reaches for her towel, to dry herself off and cover herself up. The World Cup semi-final is still out of her hands, but sulking in the shower only makes it worse. Meg dresses herself back in gold, then fixes a smile onto her face as she steps from the showers to the viewing area, still pulling back her hair. Her return is largely ignored, save for a concerned glimpse from Motty. Meg watches the pitch, not wanting to talk to her coach.

“Shot, Junior,” she yells when Elyse hits the ball for four, clapping vigorously even though her shoulder throbs with pain.

 

+

 

Meg waits, with her hands on her hips, a step ahead of the despondent Australians, forced to go about the motions of a post-match presentation. For all of the benefits of the increased exposure of television coverage, she knows that they are all tempted to crave the anonymity of a handshake, then being able to slink away from the ground as soon as they please. Instead, Meg is waiting to be interviewed, to state the obvious. She shuffles over to the interviewer when she is called up, suppressing a grimace at the movement of her shoulder.

“We couldn’t stop her. Congratulations to India. We didn’t get the start we wanted, lost too many wickets through the middle.”

Meg answers questions with empty clichés, manifesting as harsh truths.

“We haven’t really nailed a full game. We’ve had glimpses with the ball.”

Meg must give credit to the bowlers, because she isn’t one. Even though they couldn’t deliver against Harmanpreet, they would have been able to, if she as captain had been able to think of the right plans, and implement them. Finally, Meg is able to walk away, and back to her team, replaced by Mithali Raj. The Indian captain is experienced, finally a professional – she deserves this, the opportunity for a World Cup. Meg would fold her arms, as she faces towards the victorious captain’s interview. It’s the optics of it which holds her back, not trying to set a bad example for her glum players, as well as not wanting to twist her arms to any great degree. Motty peers at Meg sceptically; she can’t hide her injury from him.

 

+

 

In the late afternoon sunshine, Meg watches Alex downstairs, exchanging shirts and smiles with Harmanpreet Kaur, the woman of the hour after her scintillating innings. They grin for an iPhone camera, collecting happy snaps for Instagram of memories of the tournament. Meg wonders if Alex hurts as much as she does. Surely in spirit, even if she doesn’t in body, not compromised like Meg is. If she is, Alex doesn’t show it. Perhaps she can accept that they were outplayed, and that’s that. To Meg, it’s a matter of being good enough, or not – and today, they were not good enough to win. By extension, they didn’t deserve the World Cup.

 

That understanding doesn’t make it any less of a bitter pill to swallow. Meg offers a smile over the balcony. She doesn’t think that anybody is watching, but she wants to delight in the joy of the Indian team, and Alex’s generosity. That would make things much easier, if Meg could just be happy for them. Maybe she can be, but that doesn’t stop her from burning with disappointment. With a huff of a sigh, Meg turns around, gripping her elbow to make sure that her shoulder stays steady. When she reaches the door to the dressing room, to re-enter, Motty is waiting for her.

“Better head downstairs for the presser now,” he reminds.

Meg nods, clenching her jaw. Motty sways closer, to speak only to her.

“How bad?” he enquires.

Meg smiles, darkly.

“I don’t feel it anymore,” she answers.

Motty pauses, then nods and turns away, which Meg interprets as acceptance of her reply. She follows the coach to the stairs, not protesting that he is coming with her. Even if it’s a sign of cowardice, Meg wants to spare her players. The blame is squarely on her own wounded shoulders.


	2. Chapter 2

_23 rd March 2003_

Baby-faced, Meg returns from the middle with her bat half-raised. Ellyse wraps her into a grateful embrace, the pads they both wear squishing together.

“You were amazing, Meg,” she gushes. “I’m so proud of you.”

When Ellyse withdraws, beaming, only a brief smile comes onto Meg’s lips.

“Yeah, it’s always good to get over the line,” she agrees.

Even for Ellyse, Meg’s nonchalant attitude to her match-winning century, especially by a batter two years younger than their representative age-group, is jarring.

“More than that,” Ellyse insists. “You, Meg, you scored more than the rest of the team combined.”

Alyssa dawdles over, cautionary pads already removed.

“Yeah, you saved the rest of us from facing Coyte,” she reminds. “She looked nasty.”

“She’s good for the pull shot,” Meg comments, “especially given that they left midwicket open.”

Alyssa chuckles, slapping her hand onto Meg’s shoulder, prompted a bemused expression.

“Yeah, for you,” she retorts. “The rest of us, she’s about to knock our heads off.”

Meg doesn’t think that the older wicketkeeper is really that fearful, although the grin which won’t leave her face could be owing to their victory, securing their side a place in the final. Therefore, she simply smiles at Alyssa, not bothering to challenge her again.

“I can’t believe that we’ve made the final,” Ellyse admits. “That’s awesome.”

“About the final,” Meg speaks up.

There’s no time like now to bring it up, she presumes. Meg doesn’t want to hold off much longer.

“My parents aren’t going to be in Sydney then,” she reveals.

Ellyse frowns.

“That’s a shame, what are they up to that’s more impressive than you?” Alyssa enquires.

“They need to be in Melbourne, exactly,” Meg supplies. “We’re moving there, next month.”

Ellyse’s eyes bulge, even though she tries not to look shocked.

“By next summer,” Meg affirms, “I’ll be a Victorian.”

“That’s--,” Ellyse replies, lost for words at Meg’s unexpected announcement. “They have possums in Victoria.”

Alyssa laughs.

“They do have possums in Sydney, too,” she reminds.

“My parents are moving, for their work,” Meg explains, “so it’s not up to me.”

 

+

 

Meg emerges from the shower, wrapped in a towel and with her fresh clothes balled up in her hand. The space in which she has to change is cramped, but it’s private, and it’s rare for their team to have access to such facilities. Too many times has Meg had to awkwardly change in the corner, without being cleaned, with her back facing her equally-sweaty and marginalised teammates.

“I’ll miss Meg,” Alyssa says.

From the other side of the wall, it sounds like a whisper, but she can’t be sure of that.

“I’ll be tough to play against her, no doubt,” Alyssa insists, which brings a smile to Meg’s lips.

Once dry, she drops her towel and dresses herself as quickly as she can.

“At the same time, we’re not that far away from state teams,” Alyssa reminds, “and I won’t mind knowing that she’ll be out of the running for one of the spots in the eleven.”

Meg halts, lips slipping open. Alyssa’s a wicketkeeper; they’re not competing. Heart thumping, she waits for Ellyse’s response, but she says nothing in return. Meg interprets the silence as agreement.

 

+

 

_29 th March 2003_

On the evening before the final, Meg stays with Ellyse’s family. They treat her to a homecooked meal. Meg even has their spare bedroom to herself, where she unpacks her suitcase. Yet, just before an early bedtime, she doesn’t want to be alone. Once Meg has changed into her pyjamas, she steps out into the hallway and locates Ellyse’s bedroom. She hesitates, given that the door is only half-ajar, the light turned on on the other side. Meg sidesteps, glimpsing through the gap, confirming that Ellyse is dressed. As she turns back her bedclothes, Meg moves forward. When she knocks, she attracts Ellyse’s attention.

“Come in, Meg,” she invites. “Can’t you sleep?”

Meg pushes open the door and steps inside, yet keeps her fingertips on its edge.

“Haven’t tried,” she admits, then half-closes the door again behind her.

“Do you--?” Ellyse suggests. “Would you like to stay here and chat for a little while? I mean, we don’t have to go to bed straight away.”

She glimpses towards her bedside alarm clock.

“Really, it’s not that late,” Ellyse points out.

Meg grins.

“I’d like that,” she confirms. “There are some things that I want to talk to you about.”

Ellyse nods, like she’s been caught off-guard.

“Of course,” she agrees.

Meg takes a step forward.

“Are you glad that I’m going?” she asks, craving the answer, even if it’s not want she wants to hear.

Ellyse shakes her head, and laughs with an incredulity that compels Meg to clench her jaw.

“I’ll miss you,” she insists.

Ellyse stands up straighter, then breathes out audibly.

“After the semi-final,” she notes.

Meg clears her throat.

“I heard what Alyssa said to you,” she reveals.

Ellyse nods slowly.

“I thought that you might have,” she confesses. “You wouldn’t have asked that otherwise.”

“I wasn’t trying to listen,” Meg pleads.

“Meg, I wasn’t accusing you,” Ellyse reassures. “You’re better than all of us, and we’ll miss you for that. Alyssa’s just being funny, sometimes, it’s harder for her.”


	3. Chapter 3

_1 st August 2017_

Meg is lying down with her right arm extended on the table above her head. It is painful to hold it there for too long, so her teeth are slightly gritted. Meg is grateful when Kate permits her to move it back to her side. Still, the ache continues, spreading out from her shoulder, down her arm and into her fingers and filling up her chest and head. When asked, Meg sits up, hands in her lap.

“I would recommend that you have another X-ray,” Kate suggests.

“Do you think something has changed since England?” Meg wants to know.

Kate looks her in the eye and nods plainly, if not a little sympathetically.

“Yes,” she confirms, “and I want to know what I’m looking at before I prod.”

Meg waits a beat, then bobs her head.

“Fair enough,” she agrees, perhaps dismissively.

Kate frowns.

“You’re fit and healthy, so an X-ray is perfectly safe,” she reassures.

Meg knows the physio well enough to shake her head, adamant that that’s not the reason for her concern. After a moment, Kate steps closer.

“Meg,” she reminds, “we pushed you through the World Cup, you know that.”

Kate says nothing more. She doesn’t have to, because Meg knows what she’s thinking, that now she could be paying the price.

“When can I have the X-ray?” Meg enquires.

“I’ll get you booked in as soon as possible,” Kate vows.

She moves back and sits down to check.

“This afternoon, two-thirty?” Kate suggests.

“That’s fine,” Meg agrees. “It’s not like I’m allowed to bat and I can’t throw overarm at the rate I’m going.”

Kate breathes out audibly.

“Meg, the X-ray will tell us what’s happening with your tear,” she reminds, then goes silent.

 

+

 

_3 rd August 2017_

“Do you want the good news first or the bad news?” Kate asks when she returns.

Meg runs her tongue around her mouth while she thinks.

“The bad news,” she answers.

Kate raises her eyebrows in surprise as she closes the door fully behind her. She emits a sigh, then approaches Meg.

“Meg,” Kate addresses her, looking her in the eye.

Sensing what’s coming, Meg grits her teeth.

“I’m going to refer you to the surgeon,” Kate states.

Gripping the edge of the table, Meg lunges forward, despite the pain which shoots through her shoulder.

“Please,” she begs, with more desperation than usual, “just get me through the Ashes.”

Meg stares into Kate’s eyes, pleading. Thoughts race far too fast through her mind. Moving slowly, Kate hoists herself onto the table, beide Meg. She looks to the side at the physio, sceptically.

“The semi-final,” Kate brings up, dangerously. “What did you do once you were out?”

Meg scoffs.

“You know,” she insists. “I had a shower, then I watched for the rest of the game. You were there, Kate, and we can’t do things differently now.”

Kate raises her eyebrows at that point.

“We can’t do things differently now,” she repeats. “That’s not something that I usually hear from you, Megastar.”

Meg shrugs her shoulders, a little defeated. It hurts, but the thought of surgery hurts more. Meg has pushed through the World Cup and she has planned to push onto the Ashes.

“What I’m trying to say is,” Kate explains, “you know what it’s like to have given everything you have and that not be enough. We pushed, I pushed, you pushed and we haven’t gotten there.”

“Kate, the surgeon might--,” Meg reminds.

She stops talking, when Kate removes herself from the table. The physio stands in front of Meg and shakes her head.

+

_15 th August 2017_

With her good (left) arm, Meg is shoving clothes into her bag for her hospital stay, when she hears the doorbell of her flat. She stands up a little straighter, then halts, not expecting anything more than an early and hungry night before surgery the next day. Certainly, Meg isn’t expecting visitors, but she holds her arm in place and scurries to the door. She pulls it open, to reveal Kristen, standing on the doorstep in casual clothes. Without being asked, she enters Meg’s home.

“Hello,” she greets Kristen, trying not to sound taken aback.

Meg takes a step forward to close the door while Kristen is still inside.

“You’re going in tomorrow, aren’t you?” Kristen checks.

“Yeah,” Meg confirms.

Kristen turns around to face her.

“Do you want me to drive you to the hospital?” Kristen offers.

Meg smiles, albeit a little uncomfortably.

“I would appreciate that,” she admits. “Thank you.”

 

+

 

_16 th August 2017_

Following her shoulder surgery, Meg lies in her hospital bed, sheets stiff around her. The room is dimly-lit, only illuminated by the single bulb over the nurses’ station a number of metres from the open doorway. Still, Meg can make out the piping bordering the square roof tiles as straight lines, even in her groggy state following anaesthetic. She attempts to count the tiles one by one, before sighing audibly with frustration, at losing her place over and over again. Meg has ever been plagued by this lack of concentration at the crease. Without fail, she knows where the fielders are, so that she can place the ball between them. Sometimes, opposition captains try to trick Meg.

 

They move their arms around silently, out of sight (Suzie did that). Meg can tell; always, and swings her head around to present her with a massive grin, to tell her that she’s been figured out. She even does that in domestic games, to Alex and Rachael and whichever one of Bollani is captaining in the west this week. Meg doesn’t discriminate between her friends and enemies – friends don’t exist on the cricket field. No matter how many pleasantries she might share, the line is there. It’s different to the line that male cricketers wax line about headbutting, but Meg’s kidding herself if she says that’s not the line that she’s crossed.

 

She imagines the way that she used to twist herself to the fielders behind square, and wonders if that innocent movement is why her shoulder’s now cactus. Meg doubts it, but it’s doubt itself that’s causing her to question. She sets her jaw, and in her mind she plays a pull stroke. In reality, Meg’s body is still, imprisoned by bandages and drugs. She closes her eyes, so that everything is dark. In some ways, it’s a comfort; better than the headaches that fluorescent hospital lights create. Imaginary Meg starts by the boundary rope, expression as steely as the grille of her helmet which covers it. She charges out onto the field, makes her guard and counts the opposition to eleven. Meg never learned to count in tens, but to eleven – and then one extra from ninety-nine, of course.

 

+

 

_18 th August 2017_

Arm strapped, Meg is fastened into the passenger seat of Kristen’s car. She stares out the half-closed window. Rather than silence, the radio softly plays, in the place of conversation.

“And now in sport, the Western Bulldogs take on Port Adelaide in the AFL in Ballarat tomorrow night and Australian women’s cricket captain Meg Lanning has been ruled out of next summer’s Ashes series following shoulder surgery.”

Meg is shocked by the sound of her own name and goes to move her hand to turn it off. She knows that they will say no more, particularly in a short news update. Meg can’t deny that truth, nor can she suppress her grunt when her forearm roughly brushes against her sling.

“Careful,” Kristen advises her.

As Meg clenches her jaw, the car in front of them pulls up quickly, forcing Kristen to brake suddenly.

“Careful,” Meg echoes, then cocks one eyebrow as Kristen has the chance to look at her.

She lets out an exasperated laugh, keeping her hands on the steering wheel.

“I know that you’ve had a lot of painkillers,” Kristen reasons, “but what is your problem, Meg?”

She studies Meg’s silent expression for as long as she can, before the traffic lights change.

“It’s the Ashes, Kristen,” she finally answers. “I’m missing the Ashes.”

 

+

 

_19 th August 2017_

There’s homemade smashed avo and poached eggs on the kitchen table when Meg emerges from her bedroom. Kristen is clattering with pots and plates in the sink. Meg halts, caught off-guard, before Kristen tosses a nonchalant smile over her shoulder.

“I can make you a piccolo now,” she offers.

Kristen places down what she’s washing up.

“I didn’t want it to go cold,” she notes.

“Thank you,” Meg answers slowly.

She knows that she’s on painkillers, but she doesn’t remember Kristen coming into her house. Perhaps it was when they arrived back and Meg retreated to her room for a nap and a think. Maybe Kristen never left, but she might have had to go shopping. Meg doesn’t exactly keep her kitchen well-stocked, especially seeing as she hasn’t been back from Europe for a particularly long time. She walks over to the kitchen table, reaching with her left hand for the chair. While Kristen switches on the coffee machine, Meg sits down. She sighs, unable to use both pieces of cutlery to eat her breakfast, without pain.


	4. Chapter 4

_30 th September 2006_

In Victoria, Meg plays with the boys. Her coach mentions in passing that she’s the first girl to play for Carey Grammar. Meg smiles at him confidently, then nods her head. She pauses for a beat, then returns to the nets. Like they had done to Alyssa in Sydney, the boys are starting to outgrow Meg. She sees it as only an added challenge, an early sneak peek into the elite game. The boys bowl with extra bounce than even the quickest of representative girls’ bowlers back in Sydney. Meg finds herself grinning behind her grille, as her baptism of fire with the short ball teaches her to pull. The first time that she faces an opposition, that’s her plan. It’s only solidifies when Meg notices how her school’s openers are being bounced. When one of them falls to an errant hook, caught at deep square leg, she adjusts her gloves. Once her helmet is on, Meg walks out to bat. She’s only focused on the middle; she can’t be distracted by the fielders beyond their positioning – deep fine leg, deep square leg, short midwicket, mid-on, bowler, third man, three slips, a gully and the wicketkeeper. With this field, Meg is hoping for a double-bluff, for the chance to powerfully play the cover drive.

 

+

 

It only takes for Meg to get a full drives away that the bowler pitches short – not tactically, but out of frustration. She strides down the wicket and slaps the ball with conviction. As the dive to his right is to no avail, the short midwicket fielder swears loudly. Meg jogs a few paces towards her partner, to look like she’s running. There’s no doubt in her mind, though, that the ball is going for four. Having chased it and lost the race, deep square leg swears as well. Meg giggles, taking delight in her dominion over them. The umpire recoils, but she notices that his scrutiny is not being applied to the fielders, but to Meg. She scurries back to the striker’s end stumps and plants the toe of her bat behind the crease. When the umpire approaches, Meg stands up straighter, raising her chin in a querying fashion.

“Sweetheart, if they’re hassling you by dropping short, there’s no harm in asking for one of the bigger boys to come in,” he allows.

Meg sharply sucks in a breath, which seems to whistle over her grille. Even though her heart is throbbing, she laughs, causing her whole body to shake.

“Trust me,” Meg insists. “I’m an experienced hooker.”

The wicketkeeper chortles. Realising what she’s said, Meg retreats and pretends to scratch her guard again.

“Hear that, fellas – she’s a hooker!”

 

+

 

_6 th October 2006_

Meg turns up for the match on the following Saturday, already dressed in her whites and without a change for after the match. She silently begins a fielding drill on the outfield, because it’s something that she doesn’t need help for. Meg pegs worn cricket balls at the fence and dives all over the place, to catch them on the rebound. She leaves little red cherries all over the white pickets, but she hopes that no-one will notice. When it’s time for the toss, Meg receives her balls and takes them back into the dressing room. She knocks and waits at the door, just in case any of her teammates object to her presence. As none of them do, Meg steps inside, head down, and walks over to her kit.

 

She drops the balls into the pocket at the end. Meg glances up, to notice her captain returning from the middle. He’s miming a bowling action. Meg’s shoulder slump a little, given that that wouldn’t have been her first preference. Yet, she’ll hopefully have the chance to put that fielding practice to good use. Meg retrieves one of the balls again. She tosses it in her hands until her palms are sore, before realising that play is still about ten minutes away. Meg needs to fill the time in a productive fashion, but also one which won’t wear her out by the time that they start. Therefore, she clenches her jaw and raises her chin. Meg stares towards the ceiling, wall at her back, and thinks of tactics.

“Hey, Jake,” she finally calls out.

The captain swivels around.

“I reckon that we open with spin today,” Meg suggests.

Jake narrows his eyes. Meg glimpses towards the doorway.

“They won’t see it coming,” she points out.

“It’s not just that,” Jake dismisses, “but it’s a hot day, Meg.”

“Exactly,” Meg pounces, rising to her feet. “It’s been hot all week. The wicket’s breaking up.”

“Which is why we start with our faster bowlers,” Jake reasons, “so that they can take advantage of the new, hard ball.”

“The spinners would better take advantage of the hard ball,” Meg explains. “Dave gets grip and turn, at least try him for an over.”

“I’m not complaining,” Dave chimes in.

“Boys, right to go?” the coach checks.

Meg charges out of the dressing room first, frustrated.

“Right to go,” she confirms, not looking the coach in the eye.

Meg would love to be batting, but that’s not a choice she can make. She knows that Jake lost the toss, but she knows it’s petty to think that she would have been different. Perhaps the toss is the only part of cricket that could be carried out by any captain, although Meg is aware that one of Ellyse’s few flaws is her struggle to flip a coin. Admittedly, it’s something that Meg shares at times, but she believes that that’s not what captaincy about. She reaches the fence, spotting again the cherries which she left, and waits for Jake. To her surprise, Dave is holding the new ball. Meg knows that there are no guarantees in cricket, but she hopes she’ll be proven right. A early wicket would definitely help, especially on the first truly hot day of the summer that is technically yet to begin.

“Thank you, Jake,” Meg finds herself saying, as her captain passes her, to lead her team out onto the field, followed by the opposition batsmen through the other gate.

Keeping by the sides of Jake and Dave, she quickens her pace to a jog. They are both taller than Meg, as they are starting to grow and grow while Meg is unchanged. She heads to the fielding position that she’s given at midwicket. The rest of the fielders come into place. While Dave is toddling in, Meg creeps closer, into the position she would have placed herself.


	5. Chapter 5

****_28 th August 2017_

As soon as the news is announced that Meg is not returning to the Melbourne Stars, Kristen is over at her house. She manages to let herself in this time. Some part of Meg is grateful that she doesn’t have to stand up. When she’s between Meg and the television, Kristen fixes an angry glare onto her.

“Again, what is wrong with you, Meg?” she implores.

Letting out as grunt as she moves, Meg sits up straighter.

“I’m pursuing opportunities elsewhere,” she explains.

“Where?” Kristen demands.

“It’s not public knowledge yet,” Meg points out.

“Surely you can tell me,” Kristen begs.

“I was just about to, if you didn’t cut me off,” Meg insists. “I’m going to the Scorchers.”

Kristen’s eyes bulge, but Meg doesn’t apologise. There’s too much to go into if she’s going to, and she is far too tired for that.

 

+

 

While Meg is in the shower, Kristen cooks dinner for the two of them.

“Thank you,” she murmurs as she sits down. “This looks nice.”

“It’s nothing much,” Kristen insists, as she shreds a lettuce leaf with her fork.

Meg reaches for her cutlery, then sighs.

“Alright,” she concedes. “I’m sorry, then. I should have told you that I was leaving before I signed. Besides, it’s just for the WBBL, it’s six weeks of the year. Are you happy now?”

Meg wants to remind Kristen that she doesn’t own her, that she doesn’t have to have apologised, but she thinks that it might have sounded just a bit too bitter. Kristen places down her fork and looks Meg in the eye, then laughs.

“I can’t believe that you’ve said that you’re sorry,” she finally admits.

Meg draws her eyebrows together.

“Why?” she wants to know.

“Well, you’re not one to give in, Meghann,” Kristen reminds.

“I don’t think that I was wrong,” Meg responds, taking the bait.

Kristen shakes her head.

“You weren’t,” she allows, to Meg’s surprise, “but you anger me, sometimes.”

 

+

 

That night, they watch television together, which is unfamiliar for both of them. The light and the volume provides a welcome barrier to conversation. Finally, in a commercial break, Kristen reaches for the remote with greater agility than Meg can currently muster. As she mutes the program, Meg glances at her with scepticism, unsure of what Kristen will say.

“Are you moving for Bates?” she wants to know.

Meg’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Of course not,” she denies. “I’m going to Perth because I want a new challenge.”

“Because you actually want to win something,” Kristen bites back.

“The Stars have gotten close,” Meg reasons.

“Because of you,” Kristen insists.

“We’ve got you in the bowling department,” Meg points out.

Kristen scoffs.

“The Stars aren’t ‘we’ for you anymore, Meg,” she reminds. “Next year, I’ll be ‘them’.”

“Only in the Big Bash,” Meg reiterates. “I’m not leaving Victoria for state games and I’ll be back with the Australian captaincy.”

 

+

 

It’s surprising late by the time Suzie calls, thankfully after Kristen has left. Surely it must be nearly midnight in New Zealand, but Meg’s not yet in bed and she’s ready to talk.

“Hello,” Meg says when she answers her phone.

“Hey,” Suzie replies, and it’s a relief to hear her voice, not that she would admit it. “How’s the wing?”

Meg makes the effort to smile for Suzie, even though she knows that she can’t see her.

“It’s still not fixed,” she admits, “but it’s getting there. I can eat my own dinner now.”

“That’s something,” Suzie assures.

“It is,” Meg confirms, then falls quiet.

She knows that Suzie was the one to call, so she wants to let her speak.

“A little bird told me that you’re going to Perth,” she admits.

“Was that bird called Cricinfo?” Meg remarks.

“Actually,” Suzie divulges, “it was the Scorchers’ Twitter.”

“I suppose it doesn’t matter either way,” Meg responds.

“It doesn’t,” Suzie agrees.

Over the phone, she sighs.

“I’m going to Adelaide for this summer,” Suzie reveals.

It catches Meg just a little by surprise, but it doesn’t bother her. She’s not going to Perth for Suzie; it would offend her if someone said otherwise.

“You’ll look good in blue, Suze,” Meg replies with awkwardness, nonetheless.

“Well, that’s not why I’m going,” Suzie insists, with a laugh, “but thank you, Meg.”

“No worries,” Meg responds.

Their conversation comes to a pause, but she’s not prepared to hang up in a hurry.

“It’s good,” Meg explains, “to have new challenges.”

“You’ll get there,” Suzie promises.

Meg says nothing in reply, at least not for a while.

“Thank you,” she repeats, but she doesn’t want to sound needy.

Needy is the last thing that Meg is, and someone like Suzie understands that.

“You’re off to the UAE soon, aren’t you?” she enquires.

Suzie hesitates before she answers, unsure whether or not talking about cricket is all that good for Meg.

“Yes,” she finally confirms. “Not until next month, though, so there’s still time to prepare.”

“You’re playing Pakistan, aren’t you?” Meg checks.

“Yes,” Suzie echoes, even though it wouldn’t have surprised her if Meg knew all along.

 

+

 

When Meg finally gets to bed, she lies underneath a thin blanket, in the dark. She runs through in her mind what she knows of the Scorchers’ roster. For the meanwhile, Elyse is the captain, but it’s a role that she’s been promised she can assume. That’s a conversation that Meg will have with Junior another day. Her shoulder will keep her out of the first season of her contract, anyway, so she doesn’t have to start moving the furniture just yet. In a year’s time, who knows what will have changed, including in the west? Perhaps Bolts will have taken over the captaincy again. As far as Meg’s aware, they decide over scissors paper rock at the dinner table who will go out for the toss.

 

Of course, she knows it’s more complicated than that. That could be why Meg doesn’t date people she plays with (‘Only those whom you play against,’ she could hear Kristen reminding her). She shudders in bed, shifting her hands to her sides, as she wonders whether or not Kristen actually remembers saying that. She probably doesn’t, because it was months and months ago, earlier the previous year. Meg hopes that she doesn’t, anyway. They will always be close friends, but they’re not going to be a couple again. It’s the best thing for both of them, and Meg hopes that Kristen believes that, too. Still, she’s been grateful for her care over the past weeks, while she’s needed help.

 

Kristen is, after all, one of the few people to whom Meg is willing to display her vulnerabilities, not that she’s had much choice. When she was first released from hospital, she couldn’t even use cutlery properly, which is the antithesis of the image she projects. Meg sighs and tries to roll over, before remembering that she can’t without discomfort on either side. She digs her back into her mattress until the pain becomes too much to bear. Then, Meg stops, and thinks again about what’s going to change over this coming summer. Cricket cannot remain stagnant; it will not wait for her, regardless of how much she wants it to. The Ashes will be won or lost.

 

Batters will score runs and bowlers will take wickets and Heals or Moons will take catches and the circus it has become will roll on. Meg is not disparaging that, for a second, given that she’s been striving for recognition since she learned that it would be hard to come by. Now, women’s cricket exists in parallel universes at the same time. If they win, they’re legends. Ellyse Perry can bat at six for the men’s team, please, and Heals is ten times better than Wadey. Yet, part of central contracts across the world means that other teams are catching up – fast. That’s where the pressure comes onto the Australians. What a celebration – on the main Channel Nine, until they lose to India and they don’t even make the news. With frustration, Meg yanks herself into a seated position, then hunches over, nauseous, and grips the edge of the bed. She takes a breath to steady herself, before rising to her feet and walking out to the garage, to have a hit that she’s not supposed to yet.

 

+

 

_29 th September 2017_

Meg doesn’t know that she’s fallen asleep until she is woken by an urgent knock at her door the following morning. She knows that it’s not Kristen, because she’s aware of the location of the spare key. Beforehand, Meg never would have opened the door in her pyjamas, but today she does, and is shocked to see Alyssa standing on the doorstep. Clutching her abdomen, she pushes past Meg and rushes inside. Meg’s eyes bulge.

“Where’s your bathroom, skip?” Alyssa blurts out.

Before Meg can answer, Alyssa rushes for the sink when she spots it and keels over it, throwing up. Meg closes the door, before walking over, nervous.

“Are you alright, Alyssa?” she asks.

It’s a dreaded question, Meg knows that from her personal experience, but she really doesn’t know what else to say.

“Yeah,” Alyssa finally insists, sounding a little breathless.

When she turns around, Meg raises her eyebrows.

“I need to tell you something,” Alyssa admits.

“Go for it,” Meg permits.

“You’re not going to be the only one missing the Ashes, it turns out,” Alyssa reveals.

 

+

 

It’s when they are sitting down side by side on the lounge that Alyssa’s reasoning becomes clear to Meg.

“Pregnant?” Meg echoes, like the word itself is foreign. “Have you told Motty?”

Alyssa shakes her head.

“I don’t have to,” she reminds. “New MOU and all.”

Meg lets out a slightly embarrassed laugh.

“That’s true,” she confirms. “You shouldn’t feel like you have to, anyway.”

Alyssa leans back against the lounge, so Meg does the same, ready to listen.

“I’ll have to, eventually,” she points out, “because I won’t be playing this summer.”

Meg senses that Alyssa is repeating it so that it seems real. She has absolutely done that about her own circumstances, one hundred times over.

“I suppose that’s what happens when you’re pregnant,” Meg replies.

Maybe she’s echoing Alyssa’s announcement so that she believes it, too. Of course, Meg has other questions, like why the wicketkeeper has turned up at her house, but she doesn’t ask that.

“So,” Alyssa concludes, “you’ll have a friend on the sidelines and Moons will get a promotion, I guess.”

Meg glances to the side to look Alyssa in the eye. She searches her gaze for disappointment.

“It’s funny,” Alyssa admits, when she’s looking straight ahead, again. “Of the two of us, I always thought that Ellyse would be the first to have kids.”

She lets out a chuckle.

“For a long time, I thought that Ellyse would be the only one of us to have kids,” Alyssa corrects. “Well, human kids, I definitely had the dog children first, then I badgered Ellyse into that.”

Meg laughs.

“I remember that,” she points out.

“We’re still badgering you, you know?” Alyssa remarks.

Meg nods.

“I do,” she assures, then her smiles disappears. “Alyssa, you have, um--.”

“Options?” Alyssa guesses.

She bobs her head and Meg’s a little grateful that she doesn’t have to finish the sentence.

“I know, I’ve heard that before,” Alyssa explains. “Meg, I know that missing the Ashes is the worst thing that’s ever happened to you--.”

That might be a bit strong, but it’s close to true.

“But for me, for us,” Alyssa continues, “it was unexpected, but it’s right. There’s not really a good time with our playing schedule anymore. I’ll head around with Mitch and then be back into things next year, after the baby comes.”

“Will you be back by India?” Meg wants to know.

“I’m not due until April, Meg,” Alyssa explains, “so I won’t be playing in India.”

She nods and Meg tries not to look disappointed by that.

“No, April’s good, it’s after Mitch comes back from South Africa,” Alyssa notes.

“It’s strange for you to be talking like this,” Meg blurts out. “I know you’re being organised.”

Alyssa sits up straighter and rests one hand on her lower abdomen.

“It’s strange for me, too,” she points out.

Alyssa leaves it there. Meg cannot help but fear that she will lose her wicketkeeper forever, even if she doesn’t lose herself.

“Promise me,” she insists, “that you’ll come back to cricket.”

“You won’t be able to keep me away,” Alyssa vows. “Sarah did it, I’ll be fine.”

“Sarah had Rob,” Meg reminds, bringing up their former teammate’s devoted husband.

“And I have Mitch,” Alyssa responds.

“Who has a career of his own,” Meg points out. “You said that yourself.”

Alyssa bursts to her feet. Meg’s eyes are wide with terror.

“Are you going to throw up again?” she asks.

Alyssa shakes her head and allows herself a smile.

“Not right now,” she reassures. “I’m usually good for about an hour.”

Meg breathes out, then clenches her jaw.

“Congratulations,” she finally wishes, although she sounds unconvinced.

“Thank you,” Alyssa replies, “and I promise that I’ll be out there keeping wicket with the kid hanging off me if I have to.”

Meg laughs when Alyssa smiles.

“It’s fine,” Alyssa promises.

Meg has to believe that that’s true.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

_7 th January 2011_

The first delivery which Meg faces is the second ball of Australia’s run chase. Guha is bowling her right-arm fast-mediums and she presumes that she’ll continue her tactic from the first match two days prior, of trying to exploit the middle of the hard WACA pitch. Meg loves this ground, as the conditions are exact for her to play the shots that best express her power. Predictably, Guha drops short. Meg grits her teeth and pulls the ball past a diving midwicket fielder. She pays lip service to a run by jogging down the wicket towards Shelley while the ball rockets away for four. It’s a cracking shot, so much so that it almost echoes around the WACA Ground. Only a smattering of spectators break up large swathes of empty grass on the hill. The midwicket fielder needs to run all the way to the boundary to retrieve the ball, with no-one there to throw it back. Meg doesn’t need praise from a crowd, because she’s satisfied with herself. Off the next ball, she and Shelley scurry a quick single. At the non-striker’s end, Meg admires the sky. Yet, its volume and bright blueness makes her feel small, so she looks back to the pitch.

 

+

 

After the emphatic victory, the players shake hands with their English opposition and return to the sheds. Nobody is moving in a particular hurry. The WACA facilities are expansive and polished, much less cramped than those at some of the suburban ovals at which women’s internationals are played. The gold lettering of the name RT Ponting emblazoned on the honour boards catches Meg’s eye every time she passes it.

“My players have just completed a one-day international, with nine overs to spare,” Cathryn yells to someone outside, unexpectedly. “They deserve to be treated with the respect and dignity of being allowed to stay in the changing rooms until they are ready to leave. My players need to warm-down and shower and be allowed to leave the ground in fresh clothes.”

Shelley steps back into the dressing rooms.

“What’s happening?” Meg enquires.

“Oh, we’re being kicked out,” Shelley explains. “There’s another squad who want to use the pitch for centre-wicket practice and they want the rooms.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Meg sees Ellyse quicken the speed with which she packs away her kit.

“We’ve just played an international match here,” Rene reminds. “They shouldn’t be able to kick us out so quickly.”

“But they can,” Lisa points out. “It’s a men’s squad, right?”

Shelley only nods her head.

“Well, let’s just stay,” Alyssa decides. “We’ll all get into the showers and we’ll stay. They can’t exactly kick us out then.”

“Heals, I’m not sure if that’s such a good idea,” Rachael warns.

“If we must, we can keep our clothes on,” Alyssa concedes, “but I kept-wicket for two-and-a-half hours in that heat. I want a shower – well, another shower. Who’s with me?”

“I’ve just scored a hundred,” Meg recalls.

“You definitely need a shower,” Alyssa insists.

Ellyse giggles. The administration, flanked by Cathryn who he had been hassling, steps into view. While Alyssa pauses, unsure if this now becomes a confrontation, it’s Meg who moves towards the shower area. She doesn’t look back, but seeks reassurance from the footsteps of women behind her. Meg heads to the furthest shower and opens the door, slipping herself inside. Her last glimpse before she locks the door again is of her new teammates doing the same. Meg leaves on her clothes, but switches on the water – first quietly, while she listens for the others doing the same. One by one, the showers flick on, allowing Meg to lean back against the tiles. Rebellion is almost as sweet as victory, and not quite as satisfying.

 

+

 

Finally, the point is proved and the giggling team stumble from the showers. Mostly, they’re still in their playing kits, but completely drenched. Even Ellyse looks pleased with herself.

“We did it,” Meg declares. “They couldn’t make us leave.”

“That is true,” Shelley agrees, “but we should probably make tracks now.”

“We have to get dry and changed first,” Alyssa reminds.

“That’s correct,” Ellyse affirms, following her back out into the dressing rooms.

Meg trails after them, not sure what she’s going to find. The administrator has gone, but she notices the distant figures training in the middle.

“They’ve managed,” Meg notes, pretty much to herself.

The satisfaction she feels is different to that of her innings. Meg understands what it’s like to win, particularly what it takes, to remain one step ahead of the bowler. Sexism has been a shadowy figure in her cricketing career thus far, something that she tries not to notice.

“Towels would have been handy,” Leah mentions.

She retrieves hers from her coffin and slings it around her neck, before heading back to the showers. Alyssa presents her palm to Meg, so that she can provide a solid high-five of victory. Still, there’s something that’s not quite right. It’s fun to make a scene, but Meg and her team still must return to hotel rooms which sleep three and beers they’ve paid for themselves.

 

+

 

Late that night, Meg is buzzing and unable to sleep, downstairs at the hotel in her pyjamas. She is taking advantage of the Internet connection, reading Melinda Farrell’s report of the match over and over again. There is scant other coverage of their victory, the Web saturated with news of the men’s team’s capitulation in Sydney. Twitter is filled by far too many glum Australians, and even more gloating Englishmen. If only some of them played attention to the WACA, then the tides would have been turned, something which brings a smirk to Meg’s lips. It disappears just as quickly when she notices that she is no mention of their protest.

 

That in itself doesn’t worry Meg too greatly, but she would appreciate some acknowledgement of how quickly the team was cast aside following the win. She knows that their captain, Alex, didn’t take part, not out of disagreement, but because she was downstairs with Melinda, one of the few journos covering the game. Theoretically, Meg appreciates anonymity, but now she can’t help but feel ignored. To lift her spirits, she scrolls back up. Meg beams while she reads Alex’s quotes about her century.

‘Meg and Shelley were unbelievable. Shell has obviously been around the Southern Stars squad for quite a few years now and is one of our key players and was brilliant again tonight. Meg is only 18 and playing just her second one-day game, but batted with experience beyond her years tonight and it is a credit to all of the hard work she’s been doing. She is really benefitting from having the experience of Shelley with her at the top of the order and she’s showing that she could be a very good opener for Australia for a long time.’

Grinning, she shuts the article before reaching Heather Knight’s comments. Meg shuts down the computer when she’s told to, given that the bar is closing and her Internet time has expired. She heads back upstairs, her anonymity unsettling, and returns to the coach’s room rather than her own. Meg knocks, then waits for Cathryn. She takes a moment, then eventually opens the door with a concerned expression.

“Meg,” Cathryn addresses, “are you alright? Is there something wrong?”

Meg shakes her head, bemused.

“Nothing’s wrong,” she insists. “Would I be able to watch some footage from today?”

Cathryn smiles and steps aside.

“Come in, Meg,” she invites. “Of course you can.”

“Thanks,” Meg replies, entering the room which Cathryn has to share with Alex and Shelley.

“Meg,” Alex remarks, “haven’t you seen enough of Shell already today?”

“Not quite,” Meg replies. “I want to watch some of Cathryn’s footage.”

 

+

 

_14 th June 2011_

By the time the Rose Bowl rolls around, Meg is nineteen. She has a new captain as Jodie returns for matches in her home city of Brisbane. Meg hasn’t yet found international cricket particularly difficult and she’s immediately swept up in the rivalry. She trusts Jodie when she elects to field first and she loves being amongst the action. From her fielding position, Meg claps above her head, to encourage Clea.

“You’ve nearly got her, Smithy, you’ve nearly got her,” she calls out.

Meg’s words seem to echo around the ground. In the fourth over, her prediction comes true, as Doolan for New Zealand flicks a catch to a gleeful Lisa. Meg rushes in and wraps herself around Clea, before they are joined by the rest of the team.

“You’ve got her, Smithy,” she encourages, rubbing her hand over the bowler’s hair.

“Just as well,” Rachael replies. “You were very enthusiastic, Lanning.”

“All in a day’s work, Haynes,” Meg responds.

Rachael tilts her head to the side.

“I guess it is,” she confirms, before they all jog back into their fielding positions.

Suzie Bates comes to the crease.

“Unless it’s big and orange she’ll miss it,” Meg sledges, loudly.

Jess flashes a quizzical expression to Meg.

“Our mate Suzie here was an Olympic basketballer,” Leah explains.

“She’s not our mate,” Meg grumbles in response.

“Lanning, I’m sure you’ll still be heard from fine leg,” Jodie points out.

She waves her gloved hand around, adjusting the field. Meg grits her teeth and runs across the pitch. She knows that she’s pushing it too far and she needs to be smarter, to earn the title of the team’s smart-mouth. Meg sighs to herself, feeling a little guilty. She waits and watches the play, only clumsily walking in with the bowler. When Suzie is dismissed for a three-ball duck. Meg fist-pumps and runs in, but makes sure not to look towards the batter, because that’s not fair.

“Wasn’t big and orange after all,” Lisa mutters into her ear.

Meg winks back, before looking glum again.

“Alright, Lanning, I’ve proved my point,” Jodie allows. “We don’t need a deep fine leg.”

She takes a step closer.

“Just be smart if you’re going to say something,” Jodie qualifies.

“I thought knowing that she was a basketballer was pretty smart,” Lisa replies.

Meg’s grateful, however, that she leaves it there, saying no more. The innings continues in a procession of New Zealand wickets. Clea takes four and, eventually, Meg celebrates each one. She’s learned that she is still learning. It’s not just with bat in hand that Meg needs to be vigilant, but with her tongue, too.

 

+

 

_17 th December 2012_

Meg opens the innings against New Zealand with Alyssa.

“Let’s try and get an early mark, yeah?” she suggests, before they part for opposite ends of the pitch.

Meg marks her guard, then faces up to Ruck. She scans her eyes around North Sydney Oval. It’s a postage stamp of a ground. The total they are chasing is small and Meg reckons that she and Alyssa can have some fun on the way there, even though she knows that an early pole would give the New Zealanders some hope. The first ball she receives is short, so she smacks it away for four.

“Was that what you meant?” Alyssa calls out.

Meg offers confirmation in the form of a thumbs-up. She is not more watchful for the rest of the over, given that she saw the first ball right on, and then off, her bat. Nevertheless, Meg fails to score off the five deliveries to follow, before Alyssa has strike. Candy’s first delivery is wide and she finds herself grinning under her grille. It’s gone again, but the time the bowler returns to bowl again. Alyssa adopts the vigilant approach which Meg found herself modelling, because they know that they can catch up.

 

+

 

Despite Meg’s best-laid plans, Ruck and Candy start settling into a rhythm against her and Alyssa. Therefore, she thinks that the time for catching up has come, in the form of the fifth over. Meg gets forward to squeeze out the first ball, unfortunately not scoring. Thankfully, Ruck next drops short and she launches the ball onto the hill. Meg doesn’t even bother running; she just watches the white ball until it bounces onto the grass. There are a few spectators enjoying the December day, many of whom she knows by name. More to the point, Meg can point out which team member they know. She wanders back to the crease until the ball is eventually return.

 

Meg thinks to herself that it’ll take longer for the victory to be brought up if she needs to factor in the return from the crowd. Therefore, she rolls her wrist on the next shot that she plays, so that it’s much easier for a fielder to retrieve. Nonetheless, it’s still rolled away for four before it can be tossed back in and Meg beams, as she feels like she has gotten into the correct groove. She adjusts her grille, then scratches her spikes to make her guard again. Meg has hit two more fours before the over is complete, before Alyssa has a chance at the strike again, and the run rate has been successfully lifted.

 

+

 

The introduction of Browne into the action demonstrates the first bowling change for New Zealand, something which Meg takes as a win. Six overs in, she’s bowling to Alyssa and sprays it around to start. Meg has mixed feelings towards sundries; of course she appreciates the runs that they bring, but she would rather feel bat on ball. Of course, extras are useful in tight run chases, but this is not a tight run chase by any times, and every wide which Browne bowls widens the chasm.

“Two, two, two,” Alyssa calls, once she can finally hit the thing.

Meg scurries through, following the instruction. Were the ground just a little bigger, a three to the boundary fielder might have been possible. Threes, however, are not common on North Sydney Oval, especially with the ropes pulled in. If there’s any ground where that’s unnecessary, it’s North Sydney, or Eden Park. Next ball, Alyssa and Meg sneak a quick single, bringing Meg back on strike. She sizes up the field and finds that cover has been left open. That’s where Meg sends the ball, over and over again. After two boundaries, the fifty partnership is brought up, which she wouldn’t have noticed if not for an announcement at the ground. Karen, Meg thinks the female announcer’s name is, and she finds her voice comforting, as she rattles off the relevant statistics.

 

Maybe it’s just that she enjoys what she says. To Meg’s surprise, no cover fielder is inserted, but she also understands the tactic. There’s just enough in the pitch that she could nick off. There are slips in position for that very purpose, but Meg hopes that she would be wise enough to judge the length. She won’t go for the shot if it’s not there. It manages to be there for the rest of the over, and again twice for Alyssa off Candy on the next. Getting Candy out of the attack is the next battle for the two of them, but Meg isn’t complaining. Browne is promptly removed, replaced by Nielsen, who Meg greets by launching into the fig tree. Eventually, the ball falls through the leaves and can be returned to the field. Meg waves her back to acknowledge the announcement of her half-century, off twenty-three balls. This brings about polite applause from their family and friends, clapping almost as loudly as they can.

“Not bad considering how we started,” Alyssa points out when she comes down the wicket to shake her hand.

Meg smiles, because that’s Alyssa’s version of praise. She gets off strike to steady her head and give the wicketkeeper a turn, but soon enough, Meg is facing. Ending the over with a four has the same effect of the original single. Candy is taken out of the attack, replaced by Suzie Bates, whose over Alyssa rather uneventfully plays out. Meg hopes that there is already enough pressure on the New Zealanders, but they can always try for more.

 

+

 

On ninety-six, facing Nielsen, having just hit a six then a four, it would appear easy for Meg to keep going. Yet, the old adage seems true, that bowlers and fielders miraculously improve once a batter enters the nineties. Meg blocks out two balls before finally squeezing away a four, which dribbles away to the fine-leg boundary. She knows where it’s heading all the way.

“Yes! Meg!” Alyssa praises.

She runs down the pitch into the wicketkeeper’s arms. Meg savours the hug of celebration, then removes her helmet. She points her bat around the crowd, then the match must continue. In some ways, Meg is glad to bring up her century off the end of the over. She knows that it’s been frenetic and she needs a moment to herself, to appreciate it, while Alyssa can think about her next shot. Meg gets that for most of the next over, until she’s ready to start again.

 

+

 

_17 th January 2014_

Meg is sitting on her bed in her hotel room in Hobart. She has a room to herself, which is still something that she is getting used to, but she appreciates the privacy to analyse the footage from the previous Ashes series in England. When she hears a knock at the door, Meg pauses the video and rises from the bed. She saunters over and open the door, to reveal Jodie, wearing a concerned expression.

“Meg, may I come in, please?” Jodie requests.

Meg nods her head slowly and steps back, allowing her captain to hobble inside. She takes up the only chair in the room as quickly as she can, which isn’t particularly fast.

“Meg, I have been ruled out of cricket for the foreseeable future,” Jodie reveals, once Meg has sat down on the bed.

Meg’s eyes bulge.

“So, I guess that makes you the Australian captain now,” Jodie explains. “That does make you the Australian captain now. Congratulations.”

Meg doesn’t know how to reply and it doesn’t feel right to be sitting there in her pyjamas when Jodie, who she’s replacing, tells her the news. She’s young. This isn’t what Meg expected. When Jodie smiles, out of the blue, she flicks her eyes over her shoulder.

“You’re watching footage of England,” she observes.

“I am,” Meg confirms, when she looks at Jodie again.

“That’s good,” Jodie praises. “You’ll make a good captain, Meg.”

Meg draws up her legs and hugs her shins.

“That means a lot, coming from you, so thank you, Jodie,” she says.

Jodie grins, then leans back in her chair.

“I thought that you had it in you,” she admits, “but then you got a bit chirpy.”

Meg laughs, remembering those days.

“I thought I was clever,” she admits. “My goodness.”

Meg shakes her head, cheeks a little pink with embarrassment.

“It’s alright to be a little bit chirpy, though,” she insists.

“Well,” Jodie responds, “I suppose it is. You’ve found the line.”

Meg scoffs.

“Don’t tell me that we’re talking about the line, too?” she remarks.

Jodie laughs, as well.

“I trust that you’re not going to tell Lottie to get ready for a broken arm,” she quips.

“Well, I won’t,” Meg replies, “because that would be unoriginal of me.”

Jodie chuckles, until she splutters, and Meg realises that she’s in pain.

“Promise me you’ll come back,” she requests.

“Why?” Jodie wants to know. “Do you not think that you can do this? Because Alex is around, we could have gone with her--.”

“I’m ready,” Meg insists, fearful of having the captaincy taken away from her.

“Good,” Jodie replies.

They fall silent, as Meg isn’t sure where to take the conversation.

“I just think that you’ve still got a lot to offer,” she finally admits.

 

+

 

_5 th April 2014_

Meg strolls into the sweaty room where the press conference will be held. She widens her eyes a little at the sight of the gathering of journalists, more than she expects. Perhaps there just seems to be more of them. It’s not the largest of rooms, something Meg realises in greater detail as she carefully pulls back her chair. She sits down and hunches over to be more comfortable. Meg’s gold cap covers her blonde hair, pulled back into a low ponytail. She fixes a steely gaze onto the reporters in front of her. The questions, of course, don’t just address the match at hand, which frustrates Meg.

“On the pitch it’s feisty, to be honest, we both just want to beat each other, that’s as it should be.”

There’s a ripple of laughter amongst the reporters at Meg’s frankness, which she responds to with a  glare.

“We talk off the field but once we get on the field it’s business as usual. There’s always comments, a bit of banter and I think that’s how the game should be played.”

Meg knows that there are a number of her players who will back up that strategy, but she makes sure not to name them, not that they hide.

“Everyone knows where the line is and it’s just a bit of fun and trying to get an edge however you can.”

Then, Meg shuffles in her seat. She quietly stamps her feet and looks straight at Melinda Farrell from Cricinfo. Meg wants to change the subject, back onto the cricket at hand and not the possibility of spice on-field. Her players don’t need anyone looking; they need freedom. Thankfully, Melinda asks Meg about the experience within the England side. She nods her head in thanks before she answers.

“England have got a lot of experience in their side, they’re well led. Both those matches were very close and could have gone either way, so both sides are confident, we’ve both had good paths in. It comes down to being composed under pressure so hopefully we can do that better.”

If they can’t, they’ll make sure that they do, and Alyssa’s the perfect weapon for that. Meg doesn’t like to think that she considers those tactics, but she does.

“We know each other inside out, so we’re able to do our planning and so will England. It’s a really big stage, probably the biggest we’ve played on so it’s about being able to perform on the day and execution, hopefully we can do that better than them.”

Meg doesn’t qualify her remarks, but she feels like her team are better than England. Another journalist, with an English accent which makes her smirk, brings up the Ashes.

“We’ll take a little bit out of that, we’ve certainly got some momentum and I think we had a great team performance in those couple of games but we’re in very different conditions here now.”

Meg does know the power of words, and that’s why she’s careful not to speak too soon.


	7. Chapter 7

_16 th September 2017_

The exercise bike is good for Meg, allowing her to pump her legs. Her left arm trembles, but can remain by her side, while her right is still tightly strapped to keep her shoulder stable. Meg finally pauses when she can bear no more, hair clinging to her skin with sweat as all of the doors are closed, none of the morning breeze able to blow inside. She reaches for her towel and seizes it with her left hand. As Meg pats down her face, she remembers every time she used to do that with her right. In each instance, she would be reminded of her frailties with a pop of pain in her shoulder, when she would clench her legs around the bike so that she wouldn’t topple.

 

In some ways, Meg is more fine than she used to be, even though she has to use her other arm now. It’s been four weeks and she is looking forward to her follow-up appointment. Finally, Meg might be able to have the strapping removed, to eat her food with a knife and fork at once, to bring some more normalcy back into her life. Cricket would be good, but she tries to keep that out of her mind. It’s difficult, of course, because it’s all that Meg thought about for years. Still, it’s all that she can think about, and it’ll be the first question on her lips when she confronts her surgeon. Meg likes to think that she’s learned her lesson, that she won’t be tempted. Nonetheless, she is, as she drops the towel to the floor and climbs off the exercise bike. Meg pads across the loungeroom, attracted by the door to the garage. She knows that’s where her cricket equipment is stowed away and, if she were crazy, she’d say that it calls her. Instead, Meg ducks into her bedroom to fetch her wallet and tries not to look when she hears Kristen arrive to drive her.

 

+

 

_17 th September 2017_

The boredom of it hits Meg the most. She has a resistance band twisted around her torso and all she can do is twitch her shoulder, over and over again. That is, apparently, what will strengthen it while it heals from surgery. The first night after her appointments, Meg tries television to keep her occupied, but she has to stop to have a free hand to flick through the channels. In many ways, that defeats the purpose. It’s particularly true in light of the fact that Meg finds nothing to enjoy; she can’t manage to get herself adequately entertained by a cooking show or another American sitcom rerun. Therefore, she switches it off with frustration. With her left hand, of course, Meg chucks the remote over to the lounge, before her eyes pan back to the black screen.

 

It’s darker without the television on. That doesn’t bother Meg too much, given that the kitchen light is still useful. She feels the reduced light as an absence, something lacking from her life that she recognises as cricket. Therefore, Meg fills it the only way that she knows how, letting the resistance band go lack before discarding it on the floor. She pads over to the television set and crouches, switching on the DVD player with her thumb before retrieving the disc of her maiden century, gifted to her upon Cathryn’s departure as coach. Older footage of Meg batting is rare, beyond her parents’ home videos. Now that more matches are televised or at least streamed, there are fewer places to hide, but she wants to go right back to the beginning. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she recognises that her recovery will be long, so she can’t rely on WBBL innings just yet. None of them are as satisfying, anyway. Meg heads back over to the lounge and fetches the remote to turn the television back on and change the settings, so that she can press play. When she first lays eyes on the WACA in 2011, she feels comforted, but it dissipates.

+

_18 th September 2017_

Meg is washing up her plate from dinner when Motty calls. She abandons it in a small amount of water in the sink to answer the phone, appreciating the respite from the chore.

“Up to much?” Meg’s coach wants to know.

Used to be her coach, technically – Motty won’t be her coach again until she’s back in the team.

“Not much,” Meg answers, with a hint of a sigh. “I’ve had some dinner and I’ve just been doing the washing up.”

“You know,” Motty points out, “I’d excuse you from that on the grounds of being still recovering.”

Meg manages to laugh.

“It’s still got to be done,” she points out.

“Anyway,” Motty replies.

“I take it that you didn’t call to talk to me about washing up,” Meg presumes.

“That would be right,” Motty confirms. “I’ve been meeting with Mr. Flegler today.”

Meg breathes in.

“How is Shawn?” she questions.

“He’s wanting to appoint Rachael as captain for the time being,” Motty supplies.

 

+

 

_19 th September 2017_

Bright sunshine streaming in through the window, Meg sits on the edge of her unmade bed. She’s hunched over a little. Meg turns her phone over and over in her palms, unsure who to call first – Alex or Rachael. Their names repeat in her mind, like a never-ending chant. Meg wants to do her best, but it’s uncomfortable to talk about, the fact that she’s passing the captaincy on. She will get it back, once she’s fit enough to play again – that she has been promised time and time again, by Motty and others. That’s not the point. Alex has just turned thirty-four, old for a cricketer as it is if she wasn’t also a woman. Meg knows that even Alex can’t have much left in her by her age. With this decision, it’s likely that she’ll never captain Australia again.

 

Of course, there is always the possibility that Rachael herself could be injured, but Meg shudders at the thought, because nobody wants that. Rachael’s suffered enough, and yet she’s endured everything. Rachael doesn’t discuss what she’s been through. Meg would never make her; in some guilty ways, she admires that the woman’s got secrets. Perhaps it’s a good thing for a captain to be distance in that way. Meg hopes that’s the case, anyway, because she’s often a step apart from the others, with the intention of being a step ahead, something that’s not always possible.

 

+

 

In the end, Meg stays in her bedroom staring at the wall, unable to choose the right words to congratulate Rachael. She would only sound less than genuine, because Rachael’s smart enough to know that Meg doesn’t want her to be captain. Rachael’s tough enough to not take it personally – Meg would prefer it if she didn’t have to hand over the reins altogether. Yet, owing to her shoulder injury, she has to and, in that context, she trusts Rachael. Perhaps that’s all that she has to say, but Meg doesn’t take too much confidence in settling upon that. She will still have to face Alex, even if she refrains from calling her, and she is without the words to respond to what has occurred.

 

Alex had her time; she was Meg’s first captain, when Jodie herself was injured the first time. It was Alex who sung her praises to the few journalists who used to turn up, dedicated women like Melinda Farrell who still try to be around. The journalists are constants, even if their increased profile can be at times bittersweet. Alex lost the vice-captaincy, for Meg. Nobody foresaw, then, that Jodie would once again be injured. Then, she would not come back, retiring through a press release rather than a lap of honour on the shoulders of her teammates. Meg’s body quivers, fearing that same outcome for herself, imprisoned by her injury and unable to swing a bat to satisfaction.

 

Her lips trembles, the thought causing her head to throb with painful anxiety. That can’t happen; Meg can’t turn out like Jodie. She breathes with frequency increased by every inhalation. It’s Jodie who Meg finds herself calling, almost to check that she’s still real, that she hasn’t been evaporated by not longer playing cricket. She slowly leans back against the bed with the phone behind her ear, her arm still jarring when she lies down. The phone rings for long enough that Meg has the time to change her mind. Just when she might have been about to hang up, however, Jodie answers.

“Megastar,” she speaks up, sounding perky and blissfully real.

Meg breathes out loudly.

“Are you alright, Meg?” Jodie checks.

It reminds Meg of being the youngster in the team, when everybody made sure that the teenager was fine. She’s about to tell Jodie that of course she is, when she starts to shake.

“How did you do it?” Meg wants to know, holding back her threatening sobs.

“What’s the matter?” Jodie demands. “What did I do?”

“How did we let you walk away?” Meg asks.

Jodie laughs, in that tough and reassuring way that she does.

“I’m old and broken now, Meg,” she reminds, like there’s nothing wrong with that fact.

Jodie pauses, then sighs, like she doesn’t know what to say.

“Where are you up to with your rehab?” she queries. “What should you be doing today?”

“I’ve got some gym work to do,” Meg blubbers.

“Hang up,” Jodie insists. “Go to the gym. You’re not me. Meg, you’re fine; you’ll be fine. Hang up. Go to the gym.”

 

+

 

Meg returns from the gym to a missed call from Jodie.

“I made a mistake, Meg,” she admits, once she calls back.

“I’ve just been to the gym, you were good, thank you,” Meg insists.

She feels ashamed. If Meg has cried to a captain before, it hasn’t been for a long time.

“I shouldn’t have bothered you, I’m sorry,” she apologises.

“It’s fine,” Jodie allows.

Meg slips into her car, but doesn’t try to fasten her seatbelt.

“What I should have said,” Jodie corrects, “was that I’m fine.”

Meg draws her eyebrows together, puzzled.

“I think that you’ll recover and you’ll play again,” Jodie explains, “but I need you to know that it’s not the end of the world if you don’t. Don’t be scared, Meg. I don’t know if you’ve ever been scared of anything before, don’t start now.”

 

+

 

Once she returns home, Meg takes Jodie’s advice, calling Alex first, because she knows it will be a harder conversation. It’s likely that she’s training. Meg ignores the fact that she can’t do that and waits for Alex to later.

“Hi, Meg,” she eventually picks up the phone.

Alex sounds distracted and Meg tries not to guess why.

“Hello, Alex,” she replies.

Meg’s voice is too professional. She pulls the phone back just a little, not wanting to sound like she’s just going through the motions. She’s not, but perhaps that’s beside the point.

“How are you going?” Meg enquires.

The question’s awfully broad. Meg knows it, and she suspects that Alex does, too.

“I’ve just been,” Alex begins, then pauses, “at Moore Park.”

Meg laughs at the euphemism, loud enough for Alex to hear. It’s clear to Meg that she doesn’t like being protected.

“How was your net, then?” she asks.

“Ah, Gibby worked me over with her spinners, she kept pinning me down,” Alex responds.

It satisfies Meg that she sounds a little bit annoyed with herself, not sadistically. She’s grateful that Alex feels comfortable telling her. It has taken some getting there, but Meg likes hearing about cricket in its purest form. She imagines herself standing in front of the stumps, bat in hand, in Alex’s body. Meg laughs at that, quietly.

“What was the shot that you were trying to play?” she wants to know.

“I was trying to flick her away onto the leg side,” Alex explains. “She insisted that she had an off-side field.”

Meg finds herself transported back to the nets. She and Alex, chatting in-depth about batting, their greatest love.

“How full’s she bowling?” Meg asks.

She needs to be aware of these things, so that she can picture her own response.

“Really full,” Alex supplies.

“Ah,” Meg responds, thinking. “Could you skip down and get it before it pitches?”

Alex laughs, but she doesn’t feel dismissed.

“Only you would do that,” she remarks.

“I reckon that you could try it, Alex,” Meg insists. “You would have to be fast; you’d have to pick something about the way she’s bowling. Read the line, too, so that you don’t do past it.”

“I’ll try that,” Alex promises, “and then I’ll get back to you.”

 

+

 

_20 th September 2017_

The radio plays softly while Meg washes up her breakfast plate. She knows that the announcement of Rachael’s captaincy is being made and she wonders if she’ll hear about it. Meg rests her plate in the dish dryer. She wipes her hands dry on a tea towel, which she then hangs over the front of the oven door. Turning back to the window, Meg carefully lifts her arm above her head, stretching her shoulder. It doesn’t ache any more than it used to, so she tries again once her arm has been lowered. By the third exercise, Meg grips her abdomen and keeps going until she knows that she is close to overdoing it. Finally, she slowly lowers her hands again to her sides and smiles as she glances around the kitchen. It’s a small milestone, but Meg’s alone. She considers ringing someone, to excitedly let them know, but she doesn’t know who she would call. It seems a little desperate to call Motty, because the coach has better things to do, as probably does her teammates.

 

+

 

In bed that night, Meg finds herself flicking through Cricinfo, reading Rachael’s comments upon the captaincy announcement.

‘To be named captain of your country, particularly in such a big series like the Ashes is a huge honour.’

Meg relates, but she can’t help but still a pang of disappointment, that she won’t be the captain for this Ashes series. There are only a certain amount of matches, particularly Test matches, that can be played over a career. Meg cannot reclaim those that she misses, even if she plays until she’s forty. She will if she can, but there’s no proof that she will be able to. Meg has already become injury-plagued, or at least that’s what the media would call her if there was more coverage, especially coverage to the level that it could be critical. The exact nature of her injury still hasn’t been released. Meg appreciates that privacy; she knows that Michael Clarke’s back was never afforded the same luxury. Yet, his back itself earns more than Meg does, so that’s just the price he pays. Meg isn’t sure if she welcomes the scrutiny that could be coming, with an increased profile, but she knows that every challenge should be welcome.

 

+

 

_27 th September 2017_

Six weeks. That is how long it has been since Meg’s surgery. She doesn‘t like to look at herself in the mirror. Meg too much resembles a broken bird, even though her arm is no longer strapped like it was before. That’s something of a relief, but not much, considering that she used to think that the time that has already passed was a long time not to pick up a bat. It objectively is, Meg still believes, but that’s a reality which she has, and will continue to, adjust to, even if it makes her tremble. Exhaustion courses through her veins because she struggles to sleep, unable to get comfortable. Meg gets up because morning comes. It’s not because she feels well-rested, or ready for the monotonous day ahead. With her left hand, Meg reaches for the washer. She runs it under the tap until the water is just warm enough that there won’t be a chill when she brushes it over her features. Meg’s freckles seem more pronounced, perhaps on a background of paler skin. Winter has only just ended, to begin with. Meg cannot launch herself into pre-season. Therefore, she sees no point to the outside world. Grass and sunshine are for cricket, and cricket is what Meg is being deprived of.

 

+

 

_28 th September 2017_

Meg knows that she needs to shake herself out of her bitterness. Someone will notice soon enough, and she can’t afford for that to happen, because she would hate it even more if others looked at her as broken. Therefore, Meg fossicks around at home until she finds a calendar over than the one on her phone. Finally, she locates a charity one that her mother had given her the previous Christmas, because she had acquired spare copies. It has been untouched since December, even though the year is already nine months down. Meg rips off the plastic packaging with one hand, laughing darkly as she sinks her non-existent nails in. She already knows that there’s something cathartic about what she’s doing – that is, destroying something. Usually, it would be an opposition bowling attack, but Meg will settle, because she has to. She hangs up the calendar with conviction and flicks through the months ahead, until she realises, frustrated, that it doesn’t extend to the beginning of the India tour in mid-March.

 

+

 

_1 st October 2017_

It’s strange for Meg to appear on television outside of cricket, so she’s grateful that Alyssa and Mitzy are coming to Melbourne for the taping of Have You Been Paying Attention?. Yet, she notices something not quite so bright about the wicketkeeper, something that isn’t confirmed until Mitzy is out of earshot.

“Meg,” Alyssa divulges, “I’ll playing in the Ashes.”

Meg’s eyes bulge.

“Does that--?” she speaks up, then trails off.

Alyssa nods her head, although Meg doesn’t know what she’s agreeing to.

“A couple of weeks ago,” she divulges.

Alyssa shakes her head and doesn’t continue.

“I kind of wish I wasn’t playing,” she confesses, which answers Meg’s unspoken question, “but Mitch is still taking it harder than I am.”

Meg nods.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she replies, with genuine sympathy.

“Thank you,” Alyssa answers.

She sniffles.

“You know, sort of,” Alyssa points out.

Meg draws her eyebrows together, confused.

“As an athlete, it’s such a strange feeling,” Alyssa explains. “We’re used to being so in control of our bodies and being the master of them.”

She clears her throat.

“I guess that that was going to happen anyway,” Alyssa admits.

Meg doesn’t know what to say, because she doesn’t understand the complicated mix of grief and relief experienced by her wicketkeeper. Mitzy could return at any moment and she isn’t sure of how much Alyssa has told her.

“Make the most of the Ashes, Alyssa,” Meg insists.

“I will,” Alyssa promises.

She shrugs her shoulders, such an innocent gesture, but something that Meg can’t do without pain.

“Perhaps it’s a blessing in disguise, the decision out of my hands,” Alyssa notes.

“Maybe,” Meg agrees.

She shakes her head.

“I’m sorry, Alyssa, I don’t know what to say,” Meg divulges. “What do you want me to say?”

She spots Mitzy and she senses that Alyssa does too.

“I don’t want to wallow,” she insists, “because we’re lucky people and we’ll have a good laugh tonight.”

 

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

_1 st July 2016_

Worn cricket balls are strewn out over the long grass. Meg gives herself a run-up before bending over to scoop up the first one. She takes a step forward and shapes to throw, towards an imaginary target of stumps, when she feels a pang of pain in her shoulder which prompts a grimace. Nonetheless, Meg throws. She thinks that she’s precise, which she can especially do when what there is to hit is only in her mind. Meg continues onto the next ball, ignoring how her arm aches, and repeat the throwing drill over and over again, until each ball is far away from her feet. She pulls up quickly and stretches her arms above her head.

 

Letting out a puff, Meg links her fingers and rests her palms atop her blonde hair. When she does lower her arms, she moves slowly. Nobody else is around, so Meg allows herself to wander over to collect the balls. She has completed the throwing drill once, so she doesn’t have to repeat it, but some part of her wants to. Meg doesn’t feel satisfied by not having thrown without discomfort. Keeling over, she plucks the balls one by one from the long damp grass, with her left hand. Reaching the last, Meg stands up straighter, cuddling them against her chest. She bends her right arm like a wing and pins five of the balls between her forearm and her ribs.

 

With her left hand, Meg tosses the extra ball into the cold midwinter air and snatches it once it falls from the pale blue sky. Her left shoulder is fine; she could turn out as ambidextrous as George Bailey if she ignores her niggle. Without looking, Meg drops the other balls just in front of her feet. She tosses the last from hand to hand, then decides that she needs to have another bat. There are eleven fielders, after all. Meg won’t consider herself anything close to injured if she can still bat, because that is when she relies on herself alone. She bends over and collects up her training balls, carrying them back over to her coffin. Meg kneels down on the bumpy ground beside the nets and lowers them into their designated pocket.

 

From the main section, she retrieves her pads. Meg rocks back and straps them onto her legs, tightly enough that they won’t wobble. She fits her helmet onto her head, tightening the chinstrap to her desired snugness. Meg stands up, with her inners, gloves and bat in hand, to walk over to set the bowling machine, her companion on lonely training days. After checking that it’s loaded, she cranks up the speed and the ferocity, making sure it bowls as full as it can. If Meg wants a shorter delivery, as she will, she can simply step forward. As soon as the machine starts hurtling balls, she walks backwards, keeping her eyes on the slot until picking her moment to put on her gloves and adopt her stance. Meg lunges forward and swings her arms for a pain-free pull shot, bringing about a satisfied grin.

 

+

_19 th July 2016_

Meg’s final duty for the Surrey Stars is to prepare her statement to say that she’s not coming. The words don’t come naturally to her, given that she can’t exactly tell the English public that she has been told to save herself for the internationals.

‘I’m extremely disappointed not to be able to head over to play in the Super League.’

Meg guesses that her sentence will be edited to include the sponsor’s name. She carefully leans back in her chair and tries to think of it, so that she can add it in. It’s Kia, Meg finally concludes, the car company. It comes to mind that she had joked about a car being thrown in when she signed the contract. Unfortunately, they couldn’t give Meg one, but even if they had, now she would be giving it back, before she’s even seen it.

‘The tournament concept and growth of women’s cricket across the globe is fantastic and I would have loved to have taken part.’

 

+

 

_31 st July 2016_

 

Meg sits up late at night, with Cricinfo open in front of her on her laptop on the coffee table. Waiting with anticipation for the live commentary to begin, she hunches over, even though she knows that she has exercise to complete. Meg should be sleeping, or exercising. Choosing the latter means that she gets to keep up with a match she should be playing in. Meg can’t see the game between the Surrey Stars (her team) and the Southern Vipers (Suzie’s team), so she instead imagines it. The Cricinfo commentary is brief, only providing the result of each delivery, so she must bring it to life in her mind instead. Meg relies upon her knowledge of Tammy Beaumont.

 

Morna Nielsen is bowling to her. Meg knows the New Zealander well from their battles in the suburban nets of Melbourne. She isn’t at all glad that she isn’t facing her, and wonders if Tammy will used the same strategies that she’s learned to employ. Even though she is injured, Meg has still passed on her supposed wisdom. She can’t know for sure if Tammy is taking up her advice, on just the commentary alone. Meg likes to think that she is, but she’s not confident on the basis of two dot balls to start the innings. Personally, she likes to hurry left-arm orthodox bowlers, making them think that they have to bowl the next ball before they want to.

 

Meg will always be ready, even if the bowler is not. Finally, she breathes out with satisfaction when it pops up on the screen that Tammy has scored a three. It’s strange for Meg to celebrate the Englishwoman’s success – she knows how to dismiss her just the same. Nonetheless, she’s imagining Tammy as herself. The eighteen-year-old Beth Smith takes strike, so, in Meg’s mind, she looks like the fresh-faced teenager who scored a century on the WACA – Meg herself, many years ago. She has a vague idea of what she looks like, from the team photos that she has seen. Meg would love to be over there in England, mentoring the teenager and teaching her how to take on the world.

 

She is smiling just thinking about it, before it occurs to her that it is no longer a possibility, at least for another twelve months. By then, Meg might not feel so inclined, knowing that her national team will always come first. She knows the benefits of competitions like the Super League, and the WBBL. Meg appreciates learning from players from all over the world, so she guesses that she has to let them learn from her, too, to return the favour. It’s too late to contemplate that in too great detail. Therefore, Meg reaches for her chilled glass of water. She takes a gulp, while tapping her fingertips slowly against its side. Meg stares ahead, over the screen of her computer. The English need to be her enemies, but so often that is not how it manifests.


	9. Chapter 9

  _15 th October 2017_

Meg knows how much her life has changed when her bag of resistance bands is the first thing that she packs for Brisbane. The fact that she’s only getting herself ready on the morning of the flight is another. It is something else when Meg is just a spectator, she reasons with herself as she ruffles through her drawers, one-handed. She is still reluctant to extend herself when she doesn’t have to. Retrieving underwear for Brisbane and Coffs isn’t a task that really requires Meg to use her right arm. Therefore, she will save it, but she’s curious, so she transfer the garments into her right hand. Carefully, Meg tosses them a metre or so into the open suitcase on her bed and, although they clip the edge, they fall in.

 

Satisfied, she smiles and thinks that she will tell Kate that her throwing arm is back. It’s something that Meg can hold onto, at least seeing the panic on the physio’s face if she falls for it and thinks that she’s tried it out. A sinking feeling creeps into Meg, though. She knows the pain that she would actually be in if she tried it for real. It’s for that precise reason that she’s not going to. In a few short days, Meg will be starting to miss cricket that matters. She can guess, but she doesn’t really know how she will feel about it. A setback in Meg’s recovery right now would be crushing, she’s aware. She just needs to keep herself heading in the right direction for long enough that she can weather the storm of the Ashes.

 

That had been the plan all along. Now, however, it has a much different meaning for Meg. She knows that she’ll be able to live in teal and grey training gear, which will be supplied upon her arrival in Brisbane. That has been Motty’s assurance, when he allowed her to join the squad. All in all, Meg doesn’t have to pack very many other items of clothing. The ongoing ache in her shoulder reminds her that this is different to other times when she’s packed for a tour. Yet, sometimes it is hard to make the distinction, because Meg has grown accustomed to pain. Now, the pain that is new is of a flavour of its own, in the knowledge that she won’t be taking the field.

 

Meg knows it’s probably doing more harm than good. Yet, she repeats that fact over and over again to herself in her mind, while she chucks clothes and shoes into her suitcase with increasing ferocity, taking out her frustration onto the items. In the end, Meg packs more than the ever would have for the time that she will be away of almost two weeks, but flips over the lid of her suitcase without trying again. She yanks the zipper shut, pinched in the fingers of her left hand, then drags it off the bed by the handle. When it lands a little too close to her feet, Meg halts, knowing that she must be careful. The thought of Jodie haunts her, making her aware that it won’t take much for that setback which she desperately doesn’t need right now, even at home. With her left hand, she carefully wheels her bag behind her. Meg reaches the doorway of her bedroom, then lingers. Even though she’s later than usual, she’s still early. Meg has time to kill before her ride to the airport arrives, so she uses it by standing still, although perhaps not voluntarily.

+

_16 th October 2017_

In their Brisbane hotel, Meg listens. She’s not sure what she’s trying to hear. By now, they don’t share rooms. Anyway, they are big enough that Meg cannot sense too much about the world beyond her walls. Inside, it’s far too dark, with heavy curtains obscuring most of the moonlight. Meg shifts in bed, gingerly, the sheets drawing in around her feet. She pulls them close to her chest. Meg focuses on her breathing, even though the movement hurts her shoulder. It frustrates her greatly, because it’s been two months exactly. Sleep still isn’t coming easily. In the end, Meg sits on the side of the bed, a little stooped, with the sheets twisted around her.

 

Now Meg’s hips hurt too, given how she has contorted her legs to accommodate. She lets out something of a shriek when she finally kicks, to free herself from the sheet. It falls onto the floor as Meg flops back against the bed. Narrowly, she avoids hitting her head against the wall, which is cold as her hair brushes against it, freed from its regular ponytail. Immediately, Meg hears footsteps outside, scampering down the hallway. As her heartrate rises, she startles when there is an urgent knock at her door. Meg sits up quickly and stands on the balled-up sheet, her captaincy instincts kicking back in. Perhaps it’s like a mother’s response to the cry of her child, how Meg runs to the possibility of a teammate needing her. She opens the door with her left hand, even though she doesn’t know for sure. Ash is standing outside, in her pyjamas.

“Are you alright, Meg?” she asks.

Ash looks even more concerned when she peers into Meg’s room.

 

“I just heard a bang, that’s all,” she admits.

“Yeah, I’m right,” Meg insists.

She draws her eyebrows slightly closer together.

“Did I wake you, Ash?” Meg enquires.

Ash shakes her head quickly.

“No,” she insists. “I was awake.”

Meg creeps closer to the doorframe.

“Are you alright, Ash?” she checks.

“Yeah,” she echoes. “It’s just hot, tonight.”

Meg scoffs.

“It’s nearly summer,” she notes. “We should be used to the heat.”

It’s a line that breaks the excuse, but Meg finds herself shaking her head, because it’s what she would say to herself.

 

+

_22 nd October 2017_

After dinner, Meg approaches Ash’s door, to check on the young star and her sore head. She wraps on the closed door with her knuckles, then pauses. Meg hopes that Ash hasn’t been sleeping.

“I’m coming,” she calls from the other side of the door, causing Meg to breathe out with relief.

She listens to Ash scampering to the door, before she opens it. Meg greets her with a smile.

“Come in, Meg,” Ash invites.

Meg steps inside Ash’s room, before she closes the door behind her.

“How’s your head?” she asks.

“Oh, not great,” Ash admits. “Come over, I was having a lie-down.”

“I hope that I didn’t wake you,” Meg says, as she follows her.

Ash shakes her head, then lies down again, patting the opposite side of the bed for Meg.

“No,” she reassures. “I can’t sleep at the moment.”

They lie side by side, not touching, staring up at the ceiling above them. Meg wonders whether or not she should ask why, but she doesn’t know if she would be able to help. With her recent perspective, however, maybe she can.

“Are you worrying about anything?” Meg questions.

Ash lets out an incredulous laugh.

“Not anymore than anyone else,” she replies. “There’s nothing that I need to worry you with.”

Meg gulps at that answer, pulling her bottom lip closer with her teeth. She bites down hard, until she is chastised by a metallic taste which compels her to let go. Meg’s aware of what it feels like to have to keep secrets. When everyone tells her that she’s the best, when that’s all she’s ever wanted to become, it’s not that she don’t question herself. Rather, everything goes around in circles, because Meg doesn’t feel like she ought to have doubts. Now that she can’t work towards being the best, they are spiralling. Meg isn’t the captain; even though she feels like it, like her players are still her responsibility. It lingers on her mind that Ash won’t be honest with her. Maybe she already has been, but Meg wants more than that. Ash is young, so capable of being so good – she already is so good, as a batter who can play as a bowler.

 

It seems like a sadistic quirk of fate, that she would be injured so terribly in such a mundane way, as not quite getting to the ball and having it ricochet into the front of her helmet. It’s so different to Meg’s injury, a by-product of her own self-denial. She doesn’t want Ash to be plagued by that, hypothetically, but she might not have a choice. These matches are on television, after all. As Meg herself has said before, it’s becoming harder and harder to hide. She’s a hypocrite, when push comes to shove, because she doesn’t want Ash to have to feel like she has to, while Meg herself has been doing it in a heartbeat for months on end. Maybe that’s her determination to hold herself to a higher stand, one that only she can reach. As much as Rachael has been handpicked to captain for their similarities, it’s their differences which seem more relevant, now. Meg’s hardships have either been trivial, or swept under the carpet, unlike Rachael’s. The troubles that she has faced can’t be hidden so quickly. Maybe that distinction between them is to Rachael’s benefit, not Meg’s.

“Am I a bully, Ashleigh?” Meg enquires, somewhat out of the blue.

Her eyes dart sideways to her younger teammates, who can only laugh.

“No, of course not,” Ash insists. “You’re not a bully, Meg.”

Meg doesn’t feel it right to thank her, even though she’s relieved. Ash falls silent.

“Actually,” she corrects herself, “you are.”

Meg shudders.

“You bully yourself,” Ash explains.

Meg shifts to face her.

“You’re already superhuman, Meg,” Ash reminds, “and yet, you treat yourself like you’re the worst person to ever play cricket. You’re not. You’re the best.”

“Mithali Raj is the best,” Meg points out.

Ash scoffs.

“Only because you’re crook,” she insists. “And, maybe--.”

Ash doesn’t finish her sentence.

“Maybe what?” Meg demands, albeit in a quiet voice.

Ash looks her in the eye.

“Maybe if you let yourself recover and breathe for a second, you wouldn’t be out of the action,” she levels.

“But it was the World Cup, I’m the captain,” Meg pleads.

“And now it’s the Ashes,” Ash reminds, “and you’re not the captain.”

Being challenged, not only on the field, is unfamiliar territory for Meg. She doesn’t know what to say; she can’t find an appropriate comeback. Ash holds her gaze for a moment, then looks down and finally slumps back against her side of the bed.

 


	10. Chapter 10

_22 nd December 2016_

When Meg crosses the road, she lifts her sunglasses onto her hair. She immediately spots Steven Smith, dressed just as casually in a white T-shirt. He’s hunched over a little at a table for two, flipping the cover of the menu open and closed again. When Meg reaches the café, she bypasses the sign that requests she wait to be seated. As she approaches and takes the chair opposite Steve, he startles a little as he glances up.

“Sorry,” Steve apologises.

Meg shakes her head.

“You’re early,” she points out.

Steve nods.

“Starcy was working me over,” he explains. “I made tracks.”

Meg laughs.

“That would be a reason to be late, I would think,” she remarks.

Meg checks Steve’s expression. He appears exhausted, blue eyes a little narrow as he looks her in the eye. Finally, Steve smiles, like it takes him an extra moment to register.

“Of course,” he agrees.

“So,” Meg interjects, changing the subject, “this Memorandum of Understanding.”

Under the table, Steve’s knees rock back and forth, accidentally brushing against Meg’s.

“Meg, may I ask you something first?” he requests.

Meg smiles professionally.

“What would you like to know?” she permits.

“That pregnancy clause,” Steve addresses.

There is a hint of pink in his cheeks. Meg nods, a little wearily.

“Is that something that we need to stand up over?” Steve asks.

Meg tilts her head slightly to the side.

“I mean,” Steve clarifies, “Davey and I, we can say something.”

He shrugs his shoulders, demonstrating a powerlessness he doesn’t possess in the middle.

“But I wouldn’t want to make any promises,” Steve admits.

Meg hunches over her side of the table. She breathes out audibly.

“For the purposes of the two of us,” Meg outlines, “I think our priority is to ensure that we’re not, or any of our players, contacted personally.”


	11. Chapter 11

_28 th October 2017_

Meg stands on the training field, phone in hand. Flipped over to selfie mode, the screen mirrors her face. There is a gumtree behind Meg, which sways in the breeze in time with the wisps of hair which stray from her ponytail. Usually she wouldn’t like to be recording herself. Yet, it’s what Meg has been told to do. She can only hope that it will help, to speak about where she is up to. Meg presses the red circle on her phone to start recording, then provides a blurb on the progress of her recovery. It has been ten-and-a-half weeks since surgery, as she tells the camera, and she needs to get back as much movement as possible.

 

When the sun breaks out from behind a cloud, shining over her profile, she knows that it’s almost time to get going. It’s more important that Meg returns to action than records a video, after all. Still, something of a smile comes onto her lips, because it’s helping. Meg finds herself continuing to talk as she pushes back some hair from her face as the wind picks up. She notices the powerlines are in the frame, not that she minds. This level of distraction is uncharacteristic for Meg; she’s used to being focused. She gives another spiel about how she’s recovering her fitness, then ends the video. Meg doesn’t feel like she needs a record of herself training. There’s enough footage of her not at her best as it is, without adding to that by creating her own. Therefore, Meg slips her phone back into the pocket of her shorts. After zipping it up, she ambles back across the training field, back in the direction of the hotel. Meg yearns to pump her legs beyond the exercise bike, but she can’t for another week. She feels no relief when the building come into view, because she’s not finished yet.


	12. Chapter 12

_5 th March 2017_

Cricket is never a sport of certainties, as Meg has learned throughout her career. From the non-striker’s end, she adjusts her helmet slightly as Peterson comes into bowl. It’s a feeble gesture to unsettle the bowler, one which makes Meg feel a little desperate undertaking, given that she knows the havoc the off-break bowler can wreck. She continues creeping forward, leaving her crease at the exact moment Peterson releases. Meg’s eyes dart to Alex. Facing up, she plays back to the full ball and tries to drive it through the off-side. When she only succeeds in scooping it in the air down the pitch, Meg’s head drops before the catch is a surety, Peterson’s pouching confirmed by the jubilant squeals of the New Zealanders.

 

Out of the corner of her eye, she spots Alex lift her bat into both hands and start to trudge off the field. Meg doesn’t engage, because there is nothing to say. She waits until Alex has crossed the boundary rope. Then, Meg searches for Alyssa and makes her way towards her once she appears on the outfield. They meet three-quarters in, allowing Meg to shepherd her the rest of the way to the wicket. She turns in on Alyssa, towering over her despite being only seven centimetres taller. Meg stands so close that their helmets would be touching if not for the slight height difference.

“Play forward to Peterson,” she implores, under her breath. “I’m backing up, we’ll take the singles.”

Meg looks Alyssa in the eye, pleading for her wicketkeeper to trust her. Alyssa nods, then makes her way to the striker’s end to take guard. Meg wanders back, like she has all the time in the world. She doesn’t want Alyssa, or any other batters which might be to come, to feel rushed like Alex did, to lose control. The Rose Bowl still hangs in the balance and Meg is not letting it go.


	13. Chapter 13

_4 th November 2017_

It’s sunny in Melbourne, albeit breezy. That is weather that Meg must be thankful for. She has reached a momentous occasion in her rehabilitation, her first jog – but she feels stupid as she announces it to her video diary, in the middle of the oval. Yet, Meg reminds herself that the sun is shining and she’s getting closer. She crosses her fingers for the camera before pressing stop. Meg gives Anna the phone and pushes her blonde hair back from her face, before taking off.

“You’re supposed to be broken, Meghann,” she calls after her.

Meg laughs, even though she needs to concentrate. Her legs can move much faster than her arms can. Meg jogs as much as she can, excited to go for a run for the first time since the freedom it provided her as a teenager. Only Anna could get away with making such a remark. If Meg is to be accompanied by anyone during her rehabilitation, she’s grateful to be able to have her sister there. Over their lives, at times they have been separated by more than their exactly two-year age difference. Nonetheless, Meg trusts Anna, to follow after her with her phone. When she snakes up the path beside the brick wall, Anna runs backwards. She keeps in front of Meg, who is no longer looking at her, even though she knows that she’s being watched. Meg’s legs start to burn, which is a good sign, that she’s focusing on her recovery and nothing else.


	14. Chapter 14

_2 nd July 2017 _

As soon as Suzie wins the toss and elects to bat, Meg insists to the cameras that she would have bowled. If she thinks that she can hear Suzie laughing behind her, a glimpse over her shoulder confirms that she’s imagining it. With Meg’s hands firmly on her hips, the movement hurts and she needs to remind herself not to do it again. Of course, Suzie is waiting for her once her brief interview is finished, Australian team sheet still fluttering in her hand. Meg doesn’t know what to say, so she says nothing. Suzie has enough personality to speak first, anyway, if she wants to make conversation on their way off the field.

“I’d like a blazer,” Suzie admits, out of the blue.

Meg splutters with laughter. She’s waiting for Suzie to chuckle too, like it was a joke. She doesn’t, though, instead continuing to look philosophical.

“I mean, maybe not for one-dayers, maybe it would look out of place,” Suzie goes on.

“You want a blazer?” Meg responds. “Is this how Kiwis sledge?”

By the boundary rope, they both pause. Meg has her hands on her hips again, but Suzie doesn’t. She looks relaxed and happy, maybe the opposite of Meg’s posture.

“We would have to play more Test matches to get a blazer, obviously,” Suzie points out. “This isn’t how Kiwis sledge. I try not to sledge and I wouldn’t sledge you, Meg.”

Meg cocks an eyebrow. Her instinct is to get away, even though she finds herself wanting to stay.

“Well,” Meg replies, “that’s kind of you, Suzie.”

 


	15. Chapter 15

_16 th November 2017_

It’s late afternoon. Meg heads out with Motty onto North Sydney Oval, cap on her head and bag of balls in his hands. She’ll go until he’s out, and even then she might still request that they keep going. It feels good, better than good, for Meg to have a bat back in her hands again. She’s closer than ever to returning to cricket. It might still be several months away, but Meg tries to push that out of her mind. She is taking the field at North Sydney Oval.

“Ready?” Motty asks.

Meg assumes her batting stance.

“Yes,” she confirms.

Meg finds herself trembling, and wonders if she’s not. She watches, channelling all of the focus she can muster into the throwdowns which Motty is providing, as gentle as he’s ever been. When Meg first feels bat on ball, she holds back a roar of triumph. Motty emits it for her, and his relief is just as much of a comfort.

+

_17 th November 2017_

From across the ground, Meg watches the silhouettes of Mitch and Matt. Two supportive husbands, at least one of them perennially broken – this time, it’s Matt with the moonboot. Always, children flock to them. They don’t completely ignore the team that was Meg’s, anymore, but the attraction of Starcy for the young fans is still too great to resist. It’s good of them to come, anyway. Meg believes that they should – and why wouldn’t they want to? They may not be given any peace, but when the women they love are performing well, it’s a delight for them nonetheless. Meg thinks of everything that Ellyse and Matt juggle together. Both excellent, they live between two countries, have a dog and run a café in another city to their own.

 

Even for Meg, it’s exhausting. She searches for Ellyse in the dressing room, already warming up even though she’s batting down the order. Her legs pump up and down on the spot with an intensity matched by the frantic movements of her arms. Especially with Meg sidelined, there’s nobody greater than her – and she’s a footballer, too. She can’t help but wonder whether or not Ellyse can go on forever like this. She’s managed to transform herself into one of the best batters in the world. In fact, according to the rankings, Ellyse is better than Meg, despite having started her international career as a bowler at the tender age of only sixteen. Meg can remember her batting prowess from their junior days, but because her bowling was rapid and accurate, too, she was always hidden down the order. She’s seen signs, in the World Cup and sprinkled throughout the Ashes, that Ellyse’s batting is at the price of her bowling – her pace is dropping, not that she showed it tonight. Perhaps that’s just age talking. Meg herself isn’t a bowler; she doesn’t truly know what it’s like.

 

+

 

They haven’t been celebrating for long by the time that families are welcomed into the dressing room. It stems from an era when they owed everything to their supporters, rather than their support staff. Now, it seems quaint, and maybe the girls would rather time to themselves with beer instead of welcoming their parents into the dressing room. It's what the men would do, and it’s not like they want to become the blokes in every way. Meg surveys the partners, parents, nieces, nephews and everyone else who has squeezed into the dressing room. Alyssa’s hand is resting fondly on the shoulder on Mitch’s much-younger brother. She giggles to herself, recalling her terror at the then-toddler, early in her relationship.

 

Everyone is growing older, which Meg observes in the greying hair of the parents who have been long-time supporters of the team. It hasn’t been that long, after all, since their parents made up most of the crowd, even during the game. Meg takes a step back and finds that the wall is further away than she thought. Meg staggers a little, then regains her footing and flashes a smile to no-one in particular to reassure herself of her steadiness. There’s nobody there for her. Meg’s mother and sister had visited for the Test match, but they have lives to return to, when she’s not playing. Perhaps it’s a surprise, given that everything else has been on hold, even since long before her debut.

 

Maybe all is returning to a normal that Meg cannot remember, before cricket. She tries not to mind being on her own – after all, she’s lucky to be there at all, celebrating with her girls and their loved ones, rather than home in Melbourne alone. Meg can hear Richie Benaud’s final farewell at the conclusion of the Channel Nine coverage, then imagines herself turning off the television. She blinks, so that the darkness she pictures is real for a second, then opens her eyes again to the bright lights of the dressing rooms, just as Motty approaches. There’s a hint of concern in his eyes. Not wanting to confirm it, Meg glances away, to the stubby he holds in one hand, the other on the back of a child. She smiles towards the girl, wearing a much-too-big teal training singlet over her Aussie gold merchandise.

“I hope that your shoulder gets better soon,” the little girl wishes her.

It’s such an innocent statement.

Meg crouches down in front of her and manages to continue to grin.

“I hope so too,” she agrees, looking the little girl in the eye.

 

+

 

It’s well after midnight when Meg, unfortunately sober thanks to the medication she’s on, is tasked by Motty with escorting some of the girls back to the team hotel.

“I’ll come too!” Alyssa insists, can of beer sloshing as she raises it above her head.

Meg looks at her with suspicion.

She tries not to shift her gaze to Mitch. Alyssa may be drunk, but she’ll never be drunk enough for Meg to think of her as someone who needs her husband to cart her away.

“But we’re going to the hotel,” she notes, keeping her voice instructive.

“OK,” Alyssa agrees.

Meg laughs as she turns around, to address Ash, also unfortunately sober as she recovers from her concussion.

“Can I tag along?” she requests.

“Of course,” Meg agrees.

She glances quizzically towards Junior, on Bolts’ shoulders, trying to cover a fluorescent light with strapping tape.

“I might need some help with the wrangling,” Meg quips.

Ash scoffs.

“I’ll do my best,” she promises. “You go right and I’ll go left?”

“I can manage that,” Meg agrees, then walks off.

She kicks away the clattering and clinking bottles and cans which litter the floor. It occurs to Meg that the series is not yet complete, not even close. If she were able, she might have enjoyed a satisfied beer by herself. Meg would have resisted until the end of the series, other than that, and kept finding excuses for why the task wasn’t yet complete, and why she couldn’t yet let herself unwind. Never did she have a chance to stop, or even pause, while she was caught up with international cricket. It has been proven, after all, that Meg is always being chased; that’s the reason why she’s running so fast. More accurately, that’s the reason why she’s been running so fast. Yet, as much as this is what Meg would like to think, she knows that she’s stopped. Grounded, if she’s continuing the metaphor of her broken wing, unable to fly. Meg cannot chastise her players for letting their hair down. After all, they have won the Ashes series without her, in spite of her absence. When confronted by whether or not she doubted them, Meg feels nauseous and chooses to be gentle as she rounds up her players to return to the hotel.

 

+

 

_18 th November 2017_

Meg is thankful when Motty accepts her requests to head back to North Sydney in the morning, before the road trip to Canberra. It’s just after sunrise in Sydney and it’s clouded over more so than it had the night before, with rain threatening.

“Won’t get us in Canberra,” Meg insists.

She’s speaking of the team as if it’s her own again.

“Hope not,” Motty agrees.

Meg senses that it hasn’t been lost on him. She tosses Motty a ball.

“I’m ready,” Meg assures, getting into her batting stance.

Motty nods and tosses her the first throwdown on the session, on the bounce, which she hits away.

“Sorry,” he apologises.

“What for?” Meg asks.

“I shouldn’t be bouncing them yet,” Motty answers.

“I’m ready,” Meg echoes with conviction.

 

+

 

_6 th December 2017_

Meg doesn’t know how Suzie manages to find just the right way to comfort her. She stands behind her, one hand each resting ever so gently on Meg’s shoulders, massaging her painless left until it starts to dull the aching of her right by proxy. Loving it, she finds herself craning her neck, burying her hair back into Suzie’s abdomen. Meg closes her eyes, succumbing to how good it feels to be looked after. When she opens them again, however, she spots the clock.

“It’s late, Suzie,” Meg points out. “You’re playing tomorrow. You should go.”

“Meg, thank you all the same, but I’ll be fine,” Suzie insists.

She still speaks sweetly. Meg appreciates the sound of Suzie’s voice. It’s a calming influence even if she won’t admit it’s an aphrodisiac.

“Is this helping?” Suzie wants to know.

“Yes,” Meg confirms, “but--.”

She trails off, remembering that things have shifted, and she’s not herself playing in the morning. It’s only Suzie, and perhaps that changes a lot of how Meg thinks about allowing Suzie to stay.

“What’s the matter?” Suzie enquires.

“This is strange for me,” Meg confesses. “Not having a game to worry about.”

Suzie leans over her, her hair brushing against Meg’s cheek.

“Can you appreciate it?” she queries.

Meg doesn’t determine it as a threat, because Suzie isn’t like that. She is pure like Ellyse, and maybe just as dangerous in the same way. Both Meg and Suzie shift, so that they are looking each other in the eye. That is when Meg realises that she cannot resist. If Suzie – dual international, captain Suzie – can succumb, then Meg doesn’t have to present herself as superior. Maybe she can appreciate that about being out of the game, and perhaps she can even admit that to Suzie. Meg does confirm with her lips. She places them onto Suzie’s, trying to hold back on a hint of possession. Meg withdraws for a second, her forehead against Suzie’s, waiting for Suzie to respond. She drops onto her knees. Meg only feels bad for a moment as they bang into the tiles, during which she giggles.

“I’m fine,” Suzie insists, beaming.

 

+

 

_7 th December 2017_

“You’ll be alright,” Suzie insists.

The first throwdown she gives Meg is gentle, maybe because she’s trying not to make a noise.

“You’ll be alright.”

It doesn’t take Meg long to realise what she’s doing. She’s spent a career learning how to read Suzie like a book and she doesn’t lose that now, just because she’s been injured. Meg’s mind is still just as sharp.

“You’ll be alright.”

Perhaps uncharacteristically, Meg is careful. She flicks the first few away.

“You’ll be alright.”

Meg missed the Test match, almost a month before.

“You’ll be alright.”

Therefore, with Suzie’s assistance, she’ll play the innings that she would have, against England. Meg will get herself in, assessing the conditions of the nets, imagining where she would have placed the fielders. Maybe it’s the closest she’ll ever get to playing a Test match against Suzie herself. Meg hopes not, because she knows how much Suzie craves it. She will give herself a moment of weakness, to say that she deserves it, too.

“You’ll be alright. You’ll be alright. You’ll be alright. You’ll be alright. You’ll be alright. You’ll be alright. You’ll be alright. You’ll be alright.”

Suzie drums it into Meg’s head until she believes it, and she only wishes that she could repeat it in the other direction, too.

 

+

 

_2 nd January 2018_

In the new year, Suzie returns to Melbourne and accepts Meg’s invitation to come over to her place. She is grateful that Suzie cooks her dinner, while Meg sits at the table and laughs.

“You’re playing the Stars tomorrow, aren’t you?” she brings up.

“That’s correct,” Suzie confirms. “Your old team. Got any state secrets?”

“I suppose I do,” Meg replies.

Suzie turns around, carrying two plates over to the table and placing one down in front of Meg.

“I cooked you dinner,” she points out, “so it’s the least you can do.”

Meg scoffs.

“I didn’t know that there were conditions,” she admits.

Suzie sits down.

“Don’t worry, there aren’t really,” she corrects.

Meg takes her cutlery in each hand, not telling Suzie what an achievement that is.

“I suppose that I could try to answer some questions,” she divulges.

Meg slices her poached chicken and stabs it with her fork.

“Well, I have questions,” Suzie replies, bunching up some salad for her first mouthful. “My first question is about the ground.”

“Casey Fields?” Meg checks.

Suzie nods in confirmation.

“The fourth ground, we’ve trained there,” she elaborates.

“What did you want to know?” Meg enquires, then eats her portion of chicken.

“I want to know if it’s a good chasing ground,” Suzie asks.

“Well,” Meg answers once her mouth is empty again.

“I know that every ground is a good chasing ground if you’re the one doing the chasing,” Suzie qualifies.

Meg lets out a modest laugh.

“Well, the Stars never lost to the Sixers until I wasn’t playing for them anymore,” she reminds.

“I would say that it’s strange that you remember that,” Suzie remarks, “but I can relate.”

“Relate to feeling smug?” Meg quips. “Suzie Bates!”

Suzie laughs.

“I try not to feel smug,” she insists.

Meg finds herself beaming at Suzie.


	16. Chapter 16

_4 th March 2018_

Once Meg makes it onto the plane to India, nobody getting her off, or stopping her from playing again. She knows that it won’t be a done deal until it happens, but she’s convicted once again, to have her goals realised. Meg scans her eyes around the cabin of the aeroplane, as her teammates take their excited travel selfies. Generally, an Insta story isn’t her style, but she’s glad that they’re joyous. Meg is contented, which isn’t something easily documented for Instagram. Hopefully in a week, it will make itself known through runs. Getting to India is one thing, but winning is another, and Meg wants to win almost more than she wants to bat.

 

In the months that have gone by, she would have been willing to take whatever she’s able to get. The truth remains that it has been over six months since Meg has last played for, and captained, Australia. India has always been her light at the end of the tunnel that has been her recovery. Maybe only through the lens of hindsight, but nothing has been going to keep Meg away. Alex is no longer around, but she’s willing to accept that. The World Cup semi-final is now the last match she and Meg played together. They never had the chance to say goodbye on the field, but maybe goodbyes are overrated anyway, and it’s better to rip the band-aid off. That semi-final was mournful enough, at least for Meg.

 

She batted woefully, bowled by Goswami for a duck. Still, it comes to Meg’s mind in a split-second; she can see where she didn’t see the ball pitching and how the shower felt scorching against her back. Alex, on the other hand, shone, even though her best ultimately wasn’t good enough to win. Beforehand, Meg would have thought that that mattered, but she doesn’t anymore. At least, she tries not to, because she’s learned that it’s pointless. Onwards and upwards is sometimes valuable because, as she found herself reminding Kate, the past cannot be changed. Maybe it can be made up for, and that’s what Meg plans to do in India. She can play cricket now like nothing happened. At the same time, Meg cannot live like she was never injured. She cannot leave her painful months of recuperation altogether behind. The aeroplane races along the runway. Meg peers out the window and presses her head against the seat. She allows herself to be at the mercy of the movement. Finally, the plane takes off, Meg’s beloved Melbourne appearing beneath her, then disappearing from view once again just as quickly, and all that she can witness surrounding them is glittering sky.

 

+

_5 th March 2018_

It’s been a long and hard year since winning the Rose Bowl. That is what is in Meg’s mind when she wakes up in India, staring up at the constant swirl of the fan above her. The sheet is balled up in her fist and she is waiting for the pain to kick in. Perhaps miraculously, it doesn’t come, but Meg knows that she’s early to have finished sleeping. It’s dangerous for her to give herself time to herself in bed. Meg’s aware of that, too, but she takes that risk. She needs to allow a moment alone, to reflect on the last year. The Rose Bowl feels like an age ago, with the World Cup and the pay dispute and her injury and the Ashes to have all happened since. It’s safe to say that Meg hasn’t spent as much time on the field as she would have liked in that time. Yet, it’s Monday, and she’s in India as the Australian captain. On that note itself, Meg launches from bed. She yearns to get training, because that brings her closer to the first international match of the tour in a week’s time, when she will finally be back in action. If there’s one thing Meg’s sure of, it won’t be a moment too soon.

 

+

 

_6 th March 2018_

Meg is in the middle sporting her trademark furrowed brow. She’s already kept track of every fielder and their position and now she’s working on every fleck of dust around the oval. That might have to wait until after Meg has played her shot. One-hundred-and-seventy-odd is an easy target, so she’s committed to pre-meditating. Meg has a point to prove, to Motty and Kate, but mostly to herself, that she can play any shot that she wants. She knows what she has to show off, to be able to bring enough confidence into the first one-day international. Meg tries to rely on the field, so that she won’t get out and look stupid in doing so.

 

When she reckons that the bowler will drop short, she rocks back and pulls through midwicket. The ball lobs in the air for a second longer than Meg would have preferred, during which her heart rises into her mouth. Yet, it falls safely and she thinks that she breathes out audibly in relief. Maybe it’s humility that Meg has been taught by her injury, not that she’s an arrogant woman. Well, maybe she is, she definitely is – but she needs to be. Meg can’t be the best in the world, or at least jostling for that, without a swelled head. So much of sport is a mind game, having to beat herself before anyone else. Meg walks a fine line between telling herself she’s the worst and telling herself she’s the best.

 

More times than not, she settles on the latter, but it’s only when she’s convinced that she’s trainer harder, smarter, better. Professionalism makes it easier, but Meg likes to think that that’s now she’s been all along and that’s how she would be regardless of the opportunities which come her way. That’s the arrogance kicking in, perhaps, which becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. In order to perform at a superhuman level, Meg must be distant from reality. If that’s true, then she feels like she’s lifting off the ground, and what’s supposed to be true is getting further and further beneath her, as her readiness to play again skyrockets.

 

+

_31 st March 2018_

 

Meg is lying if she tries to think that she isn’t focusing on the score, and her score. She’s eighty not out against England and she knows it. Meg’s side, the Australians, are three for one-hundred-and-ninety-nine. That’s the Australian way of giving the score, so that’s the way that she’ll think of it. Two hundred better be on the cards, even though Meg knows that so many things aren’t certain. One such thing is her own century, which would be the sweetest thing, but she will do her best. Actually, it’s not a hundred that she craves the most, despite all she’s been through. A win would be better, and scoring two hundred gets Australia closer. She backs her bowlers, partially because Meg has allowed herself to trust them again. Some of that is not fearing herself, not feeling like she’s asking them to do something that she can’t carry out herself. With the bat, Meg’s a matchwinner again, and she senses that’s what she’s doing right now. She exposes her stumps to execute her boundary shot, reading the bowler’s mind. Questions of Meg’s greatness will come another day, but for now, she tastes domination as something to be savoured, and that’s all she needs.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. The fic begins (in the timeline of the present) during the 2017 Women’s World Cup. England won, defeating India in the final, who in turn beat Australia in the semi-final (the match depicted in the opening scenes).
> 
> 2\. Meg did grow up in New South Wales before moving to Victoria with her family, although she was actually born in Singapore. It’s known that she played cricket with Ellyse Perry, who played at junior levels with Alyssa Healy, so that’s how they are all together in the one junior team.
> 
> 3\. What was the nature of Meg’s shoulder injury? Apparently her surgery was to repair ‘instability in her shoulder’, but little more than that has been released.
> 
> 4\. Meg was the first girl to play in the Carey Grammar 1st XI, although I’ve imagined her experiences of sexism. I’ve tried to demonstrate shots that she excels at, and then imagined how these experiences of playing with boys might have developed them.
> 
> 5\. While Suzie Bates’ move wasn’t announced until a month after this, I wanted it to have already happened before Meg signed with the Scorchers, but I don’t necessarily see Suzie’s presence as being a motivating factor in that decision.
> 
> 6\. This is, of course, a work of fiction and, therefore, there are many things that I have imagined into this work, many of which probably not particularly well.
> 
> 7\. I am planning to write a companion piece to this work (to fill in some of the gaps which I could find a way to articulate at the moment). If there’s anyway things in particular you would like included in that, let me know. : )


End file.
